Page 4 of Scammed

It was her dream job. Throwing herself into understanding and learning everything she could about the Prometheus Foundation and its founder, Amy was devoted to her work. Usually at the expense of her personal life.

Dating was difficult anyway in a city like New Orleans, but her job now made it all the more difficult. Always working on a new fundraiser, always gone in the evenings for dinners, it took boyfriends only a few dates to decide they were done. Most wanted nothing to do with the endless fundraisers, schmoozing with the rich and famous of New Orleans, or knocking on the door of a business owner to beg for more money.

What Amy realized was that men seemed to want her at their immediate fingertips, their beck and call. She was not that woman. Working for the Prometheus Foundation was her joy. She was fulfilled, happy, and loved her work.

Checking herself in the mirror, she smiled at the reflection. Something she hadn’t always been able to do. Her dark, wavy hair was cut short around her ears, just kissing her collar. Large brown eyes smiled back, her teeth straight and white thanks to orthodontics. She took pride in always dressing professionally and probably spent a few more dollars than necessary on clothes. But it was her one weakness.

Traffic was about what it always was in New Orleans. The festival season was over, so there weren’t quite as many tourists. She was grateful for that, at least. Finding a parking spot was the next challenge. Working with Prometheus for almost six years now, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

This was her dream job.

“Good morning, Amy. Mr. Sheffield would like to see you,” said Tina, the receptionist.

“Of course, and good morning, Tina,” she smiled.

The non-profit was her baby. When she’d started there six years before, they were barely making ends meet. Having been open for almost two hundred years, tossed from one owner to another, they were struggling in New Orleans when Amy came aboard.

Now, they had three offices, ten branches that offered support for single mothers and their children. They’d recently completed a shelter for battered women and children and were working on a resource center to help the unemployed find work.

“Knock, knock,” she smiled, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Amy. Come in,” he said with a somber face. Usually, Mr. Sheffield was always pleasant, happy, and upbeat. Today, he was anything but.

“Is something wrong? Did something happen at the construction site? I can go out there if you need me to,” she said.

“No. No, that’s not it,” he said, shaking his head. “Amy. Amy, I just don’t know how to say this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Amy, the account that held our funds from the Mardi Gras fundraiser is empty.”

“Empty? That’s not possible,” she laughed. “There was more than two million dollars in there. How is it empty?”

“We don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me,” he said, staring at her.

“Me? I don’t have access to that money. I’m not an accountant. I just do fundraising and then put that money to good use. You know that I don’t even see the checks, let alone have anything to do with deposits or withdrawals. Someone else is in charge of getting it into the right accounts.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. But the bank says that someone transferred that money to an account with your name on it, then transferred it to another account, and now it’s gone.” Amy was stunned. For a moment, she thought it was a joke, but the look on Sheffield’s face told her it was not.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, grabbing her stomach, reaching for the back of the chair. “You can’t possibly think…”

“I don’t. I don’t, trust me. It’s just that the board, well, the board, thinks we should place you on administrative leave for the time being.”

“But I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, shaking her head.

“Amy, I know. I just think you need to take some time. Maybe. Maybe get a lawyer, Amy. Just in case.” She stood from the chair, shaking her head.

“I don’t need a lawyer! I’ve done nothing wrong,” she exclaimed.

“Amy, the Prometheus attorneys may file charges against you. I think you need to get a lawyer.”

She’d been numb. Completely numb. She felt betrayed, attacked, and utterly alone. She had no one.

That was yesterday.

She’d gone home, searched every document, every policy in Prometheus, every possibility without a single trail of where the money had gone. There was nothing in her own account other than a few hundred dollars. She even copied the registry of her personal banking records and sent them to the board, Mr. Sheffield, and the attorneys.

She had a little over three thousand in her savings and a little over eight hundred in her checking. She had money from her parents and grandparents in an IRA and a CD, but it had nothing to do with the foundation.

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