Chapter 3: The Scholarship That Vanished
I turned the page.
At the top was the name of the Whitaker Educational Foundation.
Beneath it, in bold letters, were the words: SCHOLARSHIP COMMITTEE’S FIRST SELECTION—WILLA BENNETT.
My hand stopped halfway down the paper.
“Willa applied for this?”
Mrs.
Whitaker’s daughter dropped her purse onto the counter.
“She wasn’t supposed to see that.”
Mrs.
Whitaker stood.
“Carly, this is my daughter, Meredith.
Meredith has managed the foundation for three years.”
“Managed it responsibly,” Meredith snapped.
“Which is more than I can say for what you’re doing now.”
I read the next line.
The scholarship was worth forty thousand dollars, paid across four years.
Beside the committee’s approval was a red mark: APPLICATION WITHDRAWN BY FAMILY REQUEST.
“I never withdrew anything.”
“I know,” Mrs.
Whitaker said.
Meredith folded her arms.
“Then perhaps you should ask your daughter why she applied without telling you.”
“That doesn’t explain this mark.”
“It was an administrative decision.”
“You wrote that her family withdrew it.”
“I prevented an obvious conflict,” Meredith said.
“My mother employs you.
Giving your child foundation money would look improper.”
Mrs.
Whitaker pushed back her chair.
“The committee reviewed the applications without names.
Willa placed first.”
“And when I learned who she was, I corrected the problem.”
“You erased her achievement,” I said.
Meredith looked directly at me.
“Your daughter was never entitled to my family’s money.”
Mrs.
Whitaker’s palm came down on the folder.
“It is not your money.”
The plates rattled.
Meredith stared at her mother, but Mrs.
Whitaker did not lower her eyes.
I turned back to the first page.
It established a new education fund with one hundred and eighty thousand dollars from the sale of the house.
Mrs.
Whitaker had named me as an independent trustee, and Willa’s original scholarship was to be restored.
“I can’t accept control of this.”
“You’re not being given a shopping account,” Mrs.
Whitaker said.
“You’ll review applications from working families.
You know what one missed paycheck can do.”
Meredith laughed once.
“She cleans houses, Mother.
She doesn’t run foundations.”
“And you have a business degree,” Mrs.
Whitaker replied.
“Yet you rejected the student every other committee member chose.”
Meredith pulled another document from her purse and laid it over the folder.
“Read this before you congratulate yourselves.”
It was a petition asking the court to declare Mrs.
Whitaker unable to manage her finances.
My stomach tightened.
“You filed this?”
“I filed it this morning,” Meredith said.
“Mother has been forgetful.
She is giving away money, changing plans, and trusting an employee who has had unrestricted access to her home.”
“I never touched anything that wasn’t mine.”
“That will be for a judge to decide.”
Mrs.
Whitaker’s face lost its color, but her voice stayed level.
“You told me those papers were only permission to arrange my move.”
“They authorized me to protect you.”
“You lied to me.”
“I did what a daughter is supposed to do.”
The doorbell rang.
Meredith smiled and gathered the pages into a neat pile.
“That will be the court evaluator.
Let’s see whether she thinks this little lunch was your idea.”
Mrs.
Whitaker caught my wrist before I could stand.
“No, Carly.
Stay.”
Meredith opened the front door, but it wasn’t a court evaluator standing outside.
