The revision date read three days after my attorney’s notice had been delivered. My stomach tightened. Someone had edited the presentation after being told, in writing, to stop. The first slide still promised a “private tour of Willow Creek, hosted by the family.” Near the bottom, in tiny gray print, was a line I had never seen: “Proceeds benefit the Hartwell Family Legacy Fund.”

I scrolled to the donor’s email chain, and my breath caught. At the very end, someone had forwarded a note from Bianca’s personal address. “Don’t mention Marissa. She’ll come around once the checks clear.” My hands went cold. Then my phone rang, and the screen showed an arts foundation I had never contacted. “Ms. Hartwell,” the voice said, “we need to talk about where our money actually went.”