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

My stomach tightened. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Patricia frowned. “It’s probably nothing. One of our regular donors called yesterday, said her tax receipt didn’t match what she thought she donated.”

“I’m sure it’s just a clerical error. Tiffany’s looking into it.”

“I see. Just let me know if you hear anything.”

She smiled and walked away. I sat very still, staring at my computer screen without seeing it.

A donation discrepancy. Tiffany looking into it.

Samuel’s warning about the bookkeeper and the donation records. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But what could I do? Samuel had told me not to ask questions, not to look at the records, just act normal and leave.

The rest of the day crawled by. Every time Tiffany walked past my desk, I felt a chill.

Every time Patricia’s office door opened, I tensed. By 5:00, my nerves were frayed.

I gathered my things and headed for the door, but Patricia’s voice stopped me. “Margaret, before you go, can you come to my office for a minute?”

My heart dropped. “Of course.”

I followed her down the hall, my mind racing. Did she suspect something?

Did she know that I knew, or was this about something else entirely? Patricia closed the door behind us and gestured to a chair.

“Please, sit.”

I sat. “I wanted to talk to you about something confidential,” she said taking a seat behind her desk.

“I’ve been at this center for 12 years, and I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Fraud.” The word hung in the air.

“Someone is stealing from the center. I’ve suspected it for a few weeks now, but I didn’t have proof. Now I do.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“The discrepancies in the donation records… they’re not clerical errors. Someone has been systematically skimming money from our donations.”

“Small amounts at first, a few hundred here and there, but it’s added up. We’re missing almost $40,000 over the past 3 months.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, and I meant it.

“I called in an auditor last week.” He confirmed my suspicions.

Patricia leaned forward. “Margaret, I’m telling you this because I trust you. You’ve been here for over a year. You’re honest and reliable.”

“But I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely truthful with me.”

“Anything.”

“Have you noticed anyone accessing the financial records who shouldn’t be? Anyone asking questions about donations? Anyone behaving strangely?”

I thought about Samuel’s warning. I thought about Tiffany.

I thought about Patricia herself, sitting here in her office telling me about fraud that someone else had supposedly committed. How did I know Patricia wasn’t involved?

How did I know this wasn’t some kind of trap? “I… I haven’t noticed anything,” I said carefully. “But I’m just the receptionist. I don’t have access to the financial systems.”

Patricia nodded slowly. “I know, I know you don’t. That’s why I’m ruling you out.”

She paused. “The police will be involved soon. I wanted to warn you. There may be interviews, questions. I just need to know that you’ll cooperate fully.”

“Of course. Of course I will.”

“Good,” she stood up. “Thank you, Margaret. You can go.”

I left her office on shaky legs, the police interviews and Samuel’s warning echoing in my head.

The Truth Revealed Through an Invisible Lens

Don’t go home tonight. I didn’t go home.

Instead, I walked to a budget hotel about a mile from my apartment and paid $49 for a room. I told myself it was ridiculous.

I told myself Samuel was just a confused old man with wild theories. I told myself I was overreacting.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. I couldn’t sleep that night.

I lay in the stiff hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, playing the day’s events over and over in my mind. Patricia’s revelation about the fraud.

Tiffany’s involvement or lack thereof. Samuel’s mysterious knowledge.

How did he know? At 2:00 in the morning, my phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar. I almost didn’t answer. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Chen?” A woman’s voice, professional and clipped. “This is Sergeant Rivera with the Minneapolis Police Department. I’m calling about your apartment building.”

My blood went cold. “What about it?”

“There’s been an incident. A fire. The building has been evacuated. We’re trying to account for all residents. Are you home right now?”

“No,” I managed. “No, I’m… I’m staying somewhere else tonight.”

“That’s fortunate. The fire started on your floor. Your unit sustained significant damage. Ma’am, are you all right?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. “Ma’am?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I’m fine.”

The officer gave me more information: an address to check in with, a number to call for emergency housing assistance. I wrote it all down mechanically, my hand shaking so badly I could barely hold the pen.

After I hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time. A fire on my floor.

If I had gone home… If I had been in my bed like any normal night… Samuel had known.

Somehow, he had known. I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

At 7:00 in the morning, I took a cab to the library. Samuel was there in his usual spot, but he stood up when he saw me coming.

“You’re alive,” he said, and his voice cracked with emotion. “Thank God. Thank God.”

“Samuel.” I grabbed his hands. “How did you know? The fire… my apartment… how did you know?”

“Come sit.” He led me to the bench, and we sat down together.

He reached into his faded jacket and pulled out a small notebook, the kind children use in school. “I’ve been watching your building for 3 weeks,” he said quietly. “Ever since I overheard something that worried me.”

“Overheard what? Where?”