A Knight Of The Word

Wren nodded, keeping silent.

“If I were going to steal money from the corporations, I would either steal a lot more or do a better job of it. This kind of petty theft is ridiculous, Andrew. Have you checked the signatures to see if they match mine or John’s?”

Wren scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I’m having it done professionally. I should know something later today.”

“Who brought all this to you?” The Wiz indicated the incriminating papers with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Wren gave a small shrug. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Simon Lawrence shook his head in dismay. “Well, they say these things come in threes. Last night I lost a good friend and half of five years’ hard work. Today I find I’m about to lose my reputation. I wonder what comes next?”

He rose from the desk and paced to the door and back again, then turned to face Wren. “I’m betting that when you check the signatures, you won’t find a match.”

“Quite possibly not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t involved, Simon. You could have had someone else act for you.”

“John Ross?”

“Ross, or even a third person.”

“Why would I do this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were desperate. Desperate people do desperate things. I’ve given up trying to figure out the reasons behind why people do the things they do. I’ve got all I can handle just uncovering the truth of what’s been done.”

The Wiz sat down again, his eyes smoldering. “I’ve spent five years building this program, Andrew. I’ve given everything I have to make it work. If you report this, it will all go down the tubes.”

“I know that,” Wren acknowledged softly.

“Even if there’s nothing to connect me directly, even if an inquiry clears me of any wrongdoing, the program will never be the same. I’ll quit in order to remove any lingering doubts about the possibility of impropriety, or I’ll stay and fight and live with the suspicion that something is still going on, but either way Fresh Start and Pass/Go will always be remembered for this scandal and not for the good they’ve accomplished.”

Andrew Wren sighed. “I think maybe you’re overstating your case a bit, Simon.

The Wiz shook his head. “No, I’m not. You know why? Because the whole effort is held together by the slenderest of threads. Helping the homeless isn’t a program that attracts support naturally. It isn’t a program people flock to just because they believe in aiding the homeless. What happens to the homeless is a low priority in most people’s lives. It isn’t a glamorous cause. It isn’t a compelling cause. It’s balanced right on the edge of people’s consciousness, and it could topple from view with just a nudge. It took me years to bring it to people’s attention and make it a cause they would choose to support over all the others. But it can lose that same support in the blink of an eye.”

He sighed. “I know you’re just doing your job, Andrew,” he said after a moment. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything less. But be thorough, please. Be sure about this before you act. An awful lot rides on what you decide to do.”

Andrew Wren folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “I appreciate what’s at stake better than you think, Simon. That’s why I came to talk with you first. I wanted to hear what you had to say. As far as making any decisions, I have a lot more work to do first. I won’t be rushing into anything.”

He rose and held out his hand. “I’m sorry about this. As I told you earlier, I admire the work you’ve done here. I’d hate to think it would suffer for any reason.”

Simon Lawrence took his hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you for coming to me about this. I’ll do what I can to look into it from this end. Whatever I find, I’ll pass along.”

Andrew Wren opened the door and walked back down the hall to the reception area. There was no sign of Stefanie Winslow, who was probably out working on preparations for the press conference. He paused as he neared the front door, then turned back.

The young woman working the intake desk looked up as he approached, smiling. “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering,” he said, returning the smile, “if you know where I could find John Ross.”





* * *





Chapter Twenty-One


It was nearing two o’clock by the time Nest packed her bag, checked out of the Alexis, and caught a taxi to the airport. She rode south down I-5 past Boeing Field on one side and lines of stalled traffic heading north on the other. She stared out the window, watching the city recede into the distance, wrestling with the feeling that her connection with John Ross was fading with it.