Greedy Givers

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2The foundation’s offices were located in a high-rise on JFK Boulevard. Parking in the city was expensive, so Cuddy occasionally ferreted Potter on the train in his carrying case among the standing-room-only rush-hour commuters. This had been one of those mornings that he didn’t feel like driving into Center City. Although a number of his fellow passengers must have noticed he had brought his pet along for the ride, nobody complained. When they exited at Suburban Station, he let Potter out and they strolled side-by-side to their second home.

As Cuddy entered the office space, the young intern answering the phones was full of earnest enthusiasm. “Hello. You’ve reached the Foundation for New Visions in Giving. How may I direct your call?” She smiled and gave him a one finger wave as she worked. “Certainly, let me transfer you to our beneficiary department. Please hold.”

Good morning, he mouthed to her and continued through the reception area into the main office. It had been several weeks since that glowing article about the foundation had appeared in the newspaper. The phones were still telethon-ringing off the hook from the publicity. Every nonprofit agency in the country that needed cash and every kindhearted person with some extra pennies to donate had been calling. He scanned the room quickly. It appeared as if every one of the twelve staff members was busy fielding calls. Potter squirmed to be put down, but he held on to the pup with both hands. Cuddy planned to go straight to his office and close the door.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Melinda came out of her office with a stack of prospectuses addressed and ready to be mailed. On paper, Melinda was his chief of staff , but she really served as the foundation’s CEO. He rejected those fancy corporate titles though. She patted Potter’s fluffy curls and scratched him under his chin. “And how are you today, Hairy Potter?”

Cuddy looked at the large envelopes she was hugging to her chest. “What are you doing? Get one of the kids to take care of that stuff.”

“Kids? Mr. ‘Philadelphia’s Top Entrepreneurs Under 40.’” Melinda who was in her mid-fifties laughed and held out the envelopes as if to whack him over the head. “I want to make sure these go out today.” Although almost old enough to be their mother, Melinda had the same excited, idealistic pitch to her voice as the younger staff members. “We’re changing the world, and that can’t wait.”

“You are such a cheerleader,” he said. He patted her shoulder and then started to walk away.

“Cuddy, once you get settled, please call that professor from Hunter Valley Christian College. He’s already called this morning, and he left three messages for you yesterday.”

“Didn’t you tell him what I said?”

“I did, and he didn’t take it well. He said it sounded like a threat.”

“I wasn’t threatening anyone. But if he doesn’t believe his trustees made the right decision by participating in our matching-fund program, I’ll be happy to return their money.”

“Just call him back. Okay?” She used her head to motion to his office. “His information is on your desk.”

Cuddy spoke briefly with his admin, Sarah Browning, before entering his office and shutting the door—his other sanctuary. He set Potter down on the carpeted floor and lowered himself into the soft leather chair behind his massive desk. Potter crawled under the desk and plopped onto the dog bed in the roomy well next to Cuddy’s feet. He contemplated what he needed to do to slow down the inevitable as he softly drummed his fingers on the beveled edge of the rich mahogany surface. In the Sotheby’s auction brochure, the desk had been described as “an executive two pedestal partners’ desk circa 1765.” CeCe had seen a similar one in the cover photo of a Town & Country feature about some young, rich mogul making waves in the tech business. She had insisted that Cuddy should have one for his office. She subscribed to all the luxury magazines—Vanity Fair, Architectural Digest, Upscale Living Magazine, Dolce Vita, and, of course, Vogue—but considered Town & Country her bible for fashion and lifestyle tips. CeCe was determined that they project prosperity in everything they did and in everything they touched. A photo of him at the desk was the background photo for the foundation’s f*******: page, i********:, and Twitter account. The photo embarrassed him greatly. He didn’t want or need any of CeCe’s fancy furnishings and trimmings.

He glared at the little, yellow sticky note affixed to his leather blotter. Professor Walden Burton from tiny Hunter Valley Christian College was getting on his nerves.

Cuddy took a deep breath and picked up the desk phone. He hoped Burton was teaching one of his accounting classes. Then he could leave a message and avoid the inquisition.

No such luck. The professor answered on the first ring.

Cuddy took in another deep breath before he spoke. “Professor Burton. Cuddy Mullins over at New Visions returning your call,” he said with more enthusiasm than warranted for a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

“Thanks for getting back to me. Did you receive the list of questions I emailed you?”

“I did.”

“Although I appreciate the call, I was anticipating a written response.” Burton’s voice faded away, as if he were turning his head away from the receiver, maybe looking for something. “Your responses to my concerns should be documented. Give me a second to open up my file so I can take some notes.”

“Are the college’s trustees aware of your email?”

“They know I have a few issues with the donation.”

“And they’ve authorized—”

“Look, I just have a few questions—”

“You need to address your concerns and questions with your trustees.”

“I don’t understand.” Cuddy could hear the frustration in Burton’s voice. “I’m asking for basic accounting data.”

“They have been fully briefed about New Visions.”

“Can you at least send me your last audit?”

“The trustees have our financials.”

“No, they don’t,” said Burton, the agitation in his voice rising sharply. “Nobody seems to have your financials.”

“Professor Burton, I returned your call as a courtesy,” Cuddy said in an authoritative tone. “To advise you that your communications are in violation of the matching program.”

“In violation? And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that my staff and I have already provided program details to the college’s trustees.”

“And if I keep asking questions?”

“It could result in the college losing the opportunity to continue to participate.”

“Oh yes, there’s that threat again.”

“Do you want to transfer this call to the president of the college, or do you prefer that I dial his number as soon as we hang up?”

“Your refusal to answer even the simplest of accounting questions causes me grave concern. I’ve already sent her and the trustees a memo listing my concerns.”

“And yet, they decided to continue participating. Please note that you contacting me this way is in total disregard of the agreement between New Visions for Giving and Hunter Valley College.”

“About that agreement.” The professor’s sarcasm was palpable.

“Wally, I’m ending this call and will immediately advise my staff to return $500,000 to Hunter Valley, which will deny your institution the opportunity to receive matching donor funds.”

“Yeah, about that.” There was that sarcasm again. “Who exactly are your donors?”

“What did you just ask me?”

“I asked you who the anonymous donors are. I guess that’s yet another violation of the agreement?”

“You know perfectly well that information is strictly confidential. I’ll definitely be having a serious conversation with President…”

“President Fitzgerald. Do you have her number handy?”

“How dare you.” He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “You are seriously jeopardizing the college’s chance to partici—”

“Mr. Mullins, I’m a CPA and what you’re doing makes no sense.”

“What we are doing here is groundbreaking in the field of fundraising, participatory giving. We consider ourselves philanthropic entrepreneurs and venture capitalists in charitable giving. Donors often express a desire to give to a favorite cause but never seem to get around to it because there’s no inherent sense of urgency. What we did was create that urgency to make people want to get involved, to be a part of the movement.”

“Matching funds are not new. The college encourages charitable giving by matching staff donations twice a year, but that’s not what you’re doing here. I read that p********a piece you had placed in the paper this weekend. It sounds good, but—”

Cuddy cut him off. “It doesn’t just sound good; it is good. We are doing good work. We’re doing God’s work.”

“Sounds like you’re reading me a line from your fancy brochure.” Cuddy could hear the hesitancy in Burton’s voice as he spoke his next words. “But, Mr. Mullins, I think I can prove that the Foundation of New Visions for Giving’s matching program is a Ponzi scheme.”

Cuddy released an audible gasp. “If you continue to make false and inflammatory accusations like that, I’ll sue you.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound very charitable. I need just a bit more before I report you to the authorities. I’m almost there.”

Before Cuddy could slam down the receiver, Professor Burton hung up first.

He stared at the phone. It was all falling apart at an alarming pace. But he reminded himself that he didn’t need to be worried about the professor. The president of the college promised to fire Burton if he continued to rock the boat. Hunter Valley College had already doubled their money once. The foundation had already established that the matching program worked. Cuddy absentmindedly patted his thigh, and as if on cue, Potter hopped into his lap. He hugged him tight and kissed the top of his snowy white head. His pup was the only thing keeping him sane.

***

Cuddy did not want to have to speak with anyone else that morning. It was all getting to be too much.

He poked his head out his office door and said to Sarah, “Please make sure I’m not disturbed. Not even Melinda and definitely not CeCe. I have to jump on an emergency call with the anonymous donors.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He waved her off, turned back into his office, and closed the door behind him. Sarah would make sure no one bothered him until he stuck his head out again and signaled that he was done. He was guaranteed at least an hour and a half without interruptions.

His calendar indicated that the next conference with the anonymous donors was actually scheduled to take place on Tuesday at noon in New York. Cuddy was planning to go up that day. He had already let Melinda know that one of the benefactors couldn’t attend in person and needed to delay the start until his yacht was moored in order to get adequate cell reception. Cuddy thought it best to change up scenarios every now and then to keep things fresh. He opened his Bible and began to read.

After ninety minutes had passed, he opened his office door, signaling to staff that he was once again available. Melinda and two other foundation workers were waiting to talk to him, and Sarah was in the middle of answering his phone.

“I’ll see if he’s able to take your call. May I have your name so I may tell him who’s calling?” Whatever the caller said caused Sarah to raise her eyebrows and point to the phone. “Oh, yes. Really?” A huge grin covered her face. “Please hold.” She tapped the hold button, raising her hand as if she were flicking a magic wand.

“Who’s that?” he asked. He lowered his hands in the universal “calm down” motion. Sometimes she was like a puppy, all giddy and bouncy.

“It’s Katie Zuckerman from the mayor’s office of civic engagement and volunteer service.”

Melinda and the others leaned in to hear. Cuddy held up his hand to hold down Melinda’s enthusiasm too.

“What does she want?”

Pointing to the phone, she beamed. “They want to sponsor a proclamation before city council naming a Cuddy Mullins Day or a New Visions Day. Isn’t that cool?”

“Good Lord,” said Melinda.

Cuddy grimaced. “No, it’s not cool. I told CeCe that damn article would start bringing unnecessary attention.” He let out an angry growl and made a tight fist.

Sarah pointed to the blinking hold button on the desk phone. “What do you want me to tell the mayor’s office?

“Tell her someone will call her back.”

“Who? CeCe?”

“Definitely not.” His thoughts turned to his wife. The success of that damn Inquirer article had made her even more insistent to tout his good works. His eyes darted around the room. It all had to stop. Before it was too late. What the hell was CeCe up to now?

He ignored the surprised looks of everyone and turned to Sarah. “Get CeCe on the phone.”