I Gave The Homeless Man Some Change Every Day. One Day He Grabbed My Arm And Said, “…”

Then came that Tuesday morning in late March. I got off the bus at my usual stop, crossed the street, and headed toward the library.

Samuel was in his spot, but something was different. He was standing instead of sitting, and his eyes were scanning the street with an urgency I had never seen before.

When he spotted me, he rushed forward, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. “Mrs. Margaret,” he said his voice low and urgent. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

“Samuel, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s not about me.” He pulled me closer to the library wall, away from the stream of pedestrians. “It’s about you. Something’s wrong at your job. Something dangerous.”

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t explain everything right now, but you need to be very careful.” “Watch the new bookkeeper, the young one with the red hair. Watch what she does with the donation records.”

“And Mrs. Margaret,” he paused his grip tightening on my arm. “Don’t go home tonight. Sleep somewhere else: a hotel, a friend’s place, anywhere but your apartment.”

“Samuel, you’re scaring me. How do you know about my job? How do you know about the bookkeeper?”

“I know things,” he said simply. “I’ve been watching, listening. People talk around a homeless man like he’s invisible.”

“They say things they shouldn’t say, and what I’ve heard…” He shook his head. “Please just trust me. Come back tomorrow morning and I’ll show you everything, but don’t go home tonight. Promise me.”

His eyes were pleading and, beneath the urgency, I saw something that looked like fear. Real fear.

“I… I promise,” I heard myself say.

Samuel released my arm and stepped back. “Good, good. Now go to work. Act normal.”

“Don’t ask questions. Don’t look at the records. Just do your job and leave. I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

He shuffled back to his bench and sat down, returning to his usual position as if nothing had happened. I stood there for a long moment, my heart racing, trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

The walk to the senior center felt longer than usual. My mind was spinning with questions.

How did Samuel know about my work? What had he heard, and why was he so frightened?

The Good Shepherd Senior Center was a modest facility that served about 200 elderly clients. We offered day programs, meals, social activities, and various support services.

The staff was small: just 15 people, including me. The director was a woman named Patricia Holloway, who had run the place for 12 years.

The clients loved her, and the staff respected her. I had always thought of her as a good person.

The new bookkeeper Samuel had mentioned was a young woman named Tiffany Reynolds. She had been hired about 3 months ago, shortly after the old bookkeeper retired.

She was 28, pretty, with bright red hair and an easy smile. Everyone liked her.

She was efficient, friendly, and always willing to help. I had never thought twice about her until now.

I sat at my reception desk, greeting clients and answering phones like I did every day. But my mind was elsewhere.

I found myself watching Tiffany whenever she passed through the lobby. She seemed normal, cheerful, nothing suspicious.

What was Samuel talking about? Around lunchtime, Patricia came out of her office and stopped by my desk.

“Margaret, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have you noticed anything unusual lately? With the donations, I mean. Any complaints from donors? Anything that seemed off?”