A year later, I sat in the foundation's office and looked at the harbor.
It was spring again. The trees on the hill behind the building were budding. The container ships were moving in and out. The sun was out for the first time in weeks.
I'd spent the year doing what I'd promised. I'd rebuilt the foundation's board: seven women this time, all of them with experience in the fields the foundation funded. I'd hired a new executive director, a woman named Aisha Bell, who'd run a similar foundation inland. I'd set up a new grants program for women returning to college after prison.
The Vanterpool Foundation was still small. It still gave away about $700,000 a year. But it was honest now. And it was growing.
The company was in the hands of its employees. It was doing fine. The board had kep
