I came home from the funeral to tell my parents and sister that my husband had left me $8.5m and 6 Manhattan lofts. When I walked into the house, I overheard my parents talking. What they were saying… made my blood run cold.

Gerald Hobbes has stood at this podium every September for 12 years. He’s as much a part of this gala as the chicken dinner and the silent auction. Patricia sits front row center. Kloe is beside her. Ryan on Khloe’s other side. I’m at a table near the middle of the room.

Helen is in the back, corduroy jacket, hands folded in her lap. James stands near the side exit. Maggie sits two seats from Reverend Harris at the board table.

Gerald taps his notes.

“This church has always been built on trust. And I’m honored to have served as your treasurer for 12 years. We’ve had a strong year. Donations are up. Programs are funded. Every dollar accounted for.”

He clicks to a slide, his slide, the one he prepared, with adjusted numbers and rounded totals. Every scent in service of this community.

More applause. Mrs. Carol beams. Mr. Dalton nods.

Gerald finishes with a flourish.

“Thank you for your trust. It means the world to me and my family.”

He steps back.

Reverend Harris stands.

“Thank you, Gerald. Wonderful report as always.”

Harris buttons his jacket.