Chapter 53 Avalynne #2
I stand there for a moment, frozen, my heart thumping against my ribs before I bolt forward.
The rug muffles my footsteps as I arrive at her desk.
Papers litter the surface, and I quickly search them.
I try the unlocked drawers next, finding pens, pencils, rosaries, and a Bible, but again, no answers to my questions.
A glint of metal catches my attention, a key revealed from beneath the lamp I've somehow knocked askew.
I snatch it and try the locked drawers, but it doesn't fit any of them.
I curse my luck before, in the corner of my peripheral, I spot a filing cabinet. It's out of place, pulled away from a nook in the wall and half-hidden behind a bookcase filled with tomes of religious texts. Almost like someone was interrupted while returning the cabinet to its hiding place.
I rush toward it and shove the key in the lock.
It fits.
The bottom drawer opens with a soft creak, and quickly, I pull out a stack of yellowed manila folders, dated by decade from 1862 to the present.
I riffle through them quickly but learn nothing helpful.
They are annals, listing every sister to have been a part of the Order of Saint Margaret of Castello.
I drop them on the floor and free more folders from the cabinet.
I skim them, finding correspondence with the diocese that tells me nothing important.
Fuck.
This is a hail mary in the dark.
I drop to my knees and reach for another folder, my feet catching on the thick fabric of my habit skirt. My hands find purchase on the cabinet, my palms landing hard inside the drawer and exposing a false panel at the bottom.
What is that?
I lift the panel and pull free an unmarked folder.
Then I sit back on my heels and open the folder.
On top, I find a bundle of ledger statements banded together.
I lay them out in front of me, but they're handwritten and difficult to read.
Names, amounts, transaction descriptions, and reference numbers, none of it makes sense.
As I scan the pages, though, one thing becomes terrifyingly clear: the sums involved are astronomical.
Millions of dollars are listed alongside descriptions I don't understand. My breath catches in my throat as I flip through the pages faster.
There's no way a convent should know this kind of wealth, so why is Reverend Mother keeping secret handwritten ledgers in a hidden compartment in a locked cabinet? And why are the amounts so bloated, millions of dollars flowing in and out of various accounts?
I scan one of the statements, reading the lines carefully. They're vague, though, and the descriptions are frustratingly obtuse. I'm trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces. I continue to read until finally, pages in, something jumps out at me—a name I recognize.
St. Aloysius Orphans Asylum. Three years ago, they paid three hundred thousand dollars for Chattel 01.09.0286.
St. Aloysius is one of many recipients of Grandpapa's generosity. He always says it's our godly duty to keep the church's benevolent work funded. But how and why would they pay out hundreds of thousands of dollars?
I keep reading, spotting more names I recognize.
A month later, St. Gertrude's Shelter for Troubled Young Women paid two million dollars for Antiquity 02.11.3097.
That same month, Lazarus Psychiatric Hospital paid double for Collector's Grade 02.04.0013.
All are institutions primarily funded by my grandfather, yet they're able to shell out millions of dollars.
It doesn't make sense.
I frown at the paper. I know it must be connected to Reverend Mother, but I can't find answers that aren't there.
My heart races, sweaty skin prickling at the back of my neck as lightning strikes overhead, making me jump. I start on another bundled packet, finding wayfare agreements for the transportation of various goods.
I scan the first page.
Chattel 01.15.0294 - transport by cargo container from Warsaw, Poland, to Miami, Florida.
Chattel 01.11.0327 - transport by cargo container from San Diego, California, to Rome, Italy.
Collector's Grade - 02.06.0130 - transport by cargo container from Porte-au-Prince, Haiti, to New York City, New York.
The list goes on, one page blurring into the next.
Accounting ledgers.
Shipping agreements.
Late-night truck deliveries.
The off-limits crypt.
The Devil of Saint Margaret's.
Reverend Mother.
They all must be connected, but how?
I look back over at the ledgers, and my gaze lands on a name I know all too well: the Immorier Trust, listed next to a massive multi-million-dollar transfer.
My stomach twists as I stare down at the paper. I can only come to one conclusion. Reverend Mother is not only funneling funds from the church, but she's also stealing from my grandfather.
I can't let this happen.
I can't let her destroy my family.
I have to go to Xade. He'll know what to do. I hurry to my feet, replace the false bottom in the cabinet, and put the folders back where I found them, keeping the bound wayfare agreements and handwritten ledgers. Then I place the key back under Reverend Mother's lamp and slip out of her office.
My heart batters beneath my sternum as I hurry down the hall.
I'm going to end this.
Reverend Mother has no idea what's coming.