It wasn't as exciting as a nine-hundred-mile motorcycle ride.
But it mattered far more.
The financial review concluded in early spring.
By then, the little girl had begun sending me drawings.
Sometimes motorcycles.
Sometimes birds.
Sometimes strange creatures that looked like a combination of a dog, a rabbit, and a dinosaur.
I kept every picture.
My refrigerator became covered in colored paper.
My workshop gained a small shelf holding photographs she'd sent.
And beside my old riding trophies sat the heart-shaped stone from our walk in New Mexico.
Then the review coordinator called.
The findings were ready.
The outside accountants had identified serious irregularities involving several payments from the children's charity fund.
The disputed transactions had been processed through arrangements connected to the former treasurer and certain outside vendors.
Available records did not support the allegation that my daughter had improperly authorized or received those funds.
Instead, the evidence showed that her concerns had been reasonable and that the club's earlier response failed to provide an adequate independent examination.
The reviewers recommended formal corrective action.
Referral of relevant findings to the appropriate authorities.
Further examination of the charity's governance.
And a public correction of the inaccurate allegations that had damaged my daughter's reputation.
I listened without interrupting.
For nine years, I'd wanted someone to tell me exactly what happened.
Now the answer was coming.
And I discovered that hearing it didn't make me feel victorious.
It made me feel sick.
My daughter had been right.
She'd been right when she came into my workshop.
Right when she requested the records.
And right when she stood in front of the club asking us to look at the evidence.
I hadn't listened.
The review coordinator asked whether I understood the findings.
I looked toward the blue star.
Then answered.
"Yes."
She explained the next steps.
The club's governing body would need to respond.
Certain financial matters required further review.
And any public statement should accurately describe the findings without overstating what the records established.
I agreed.
Then I asked one question.
"Can the report say my daughter wasn't responsible for the missing money?"
The coordinator paused.
"The evidence reviewed does not support the accusation made against her."
I closed my eyes.
"That's what I needed to hear."
After the call, I sat in my workshop for nearly an hour.
Then I opened the drawer.
Removed my daughter's final letter.
And read it again.