Chapter 8 - The Man Who Counted the Money
Elijah Brooks arrived at Mara's office wearing an old suit and carrying a grocery bag full of receipts. He'd been Vale Meridian's assistant controller for nine years. He set the bag down with trembling hands.
"I should have come sooner," he said.
"Start where you can," Mara said.
He explained how repair invoices went to Blue Heron, then to a chain of subcontractors that existed mostly on paper. Some services had been billed twice. Others had never happened. An elevator repair at Alder Court had been marked completed on the same day the elevator broke down with a woman trapped inside.
"Who approved the payments?" I asked.
"Marcus. Victor Sloane reviewed the contracts. Your name was added to the quarterly certifications."
My stomach went cold. "Did I sign them?"
Elijah looked miserable. "I don't think so. The digital signature dates don't match the dates you were in the system. Somebody imported a scan."
"Can you prove that?" Mara asked.
"I can show the logs. The server copied them to an off-site backup before Marcus ordered the accounting team to clear old files."
He slid a flash drive across the table, then pulled it back.
"I have a son," he said. "Milo's ten. Marcus knows which school he goes to. Last night a car sat outside our place for two hours."
"We can help you report that," Mara said. "You shouldn't confront anyone or take more risks alone."
Elijah swallowed. "I didn't come here to be brave. I came because Walter Pierce taught my kid to ride a bike. He kept saying the heater was broken. And I kept watching money leave the account."
We fell silent.
"I can't promise you nobody will be angry," Mara finally said. "I can promise we will not ask you to lie, and we will discuss a safe way to turn over the evidence."
Elijah nodded and let go of the drive.
At the bottom of the grocery bag was a yellow envelope. Inside lay a photocopy of a safety certification with my printed name and a signature that was almost perfect.
Almost.
The tail of the letter y curled the wrong way. My mother had taught me to write it that way before I changed my handwriting in high school.
"Who used my old signature?" I asked.
May you like
Elijah avoided my eyes.
"Ask your husband," he said. "He kept a sample on his phone."
