Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Rosemary had been looking at invoices so long that numbers danced behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Something just wasn’t adding up.
Figuratively.
Because, literally, everything was adding up.
She’d checked every number on every paper invoice, compared those to the spreadsheet she’d found in the file, compared those to the numbers in the payables summary, and checked every number on every page of the financial statements.
Then she’d redone the math by hand on her calculator.
It was nearly 2:00 p.m., and she’d let herself get sucked into double-and triple-checking the numbers on the Penrose warehouse, which had taken forever because Armando had refused her request to access the electronic files.
He thought using the Penrose financials as a basis for her Girard work was a waste of time.
But with the projects being so similar, that just didn’t make sense.
So, instead of listening to her boss, she’d snuck all the Penrose files into her office and had spent the morning reviewing them when she was supposed to be finishing the draft payment schedule and financials for the Girard warehouse.
She was going to get herself fired.
She kept telling herself to put the Penrose files away and work on the Girard project, but she had that same niggling sensation she used to get during math tests when some other, smarter part of her brain would tell her she’d made a mistake on one of the earlier problems. Sure enough, every time she had that feeling and rechecked her work, she found an error.
So why wasn’t she finding the error now?
Maybe Remiza had fried that part of her brain at the same time it fried her hair follicles.
“And cured your cancer, you ungrateful wretch,” she muttered.
She was lucky to have this job. Even though she was twenty-six years old when she’d started at Pannetone & Associates, she’d had very little work experience.
With being sick so much, it had taken her longer to finish college, so she’d gotten a late start on her career.
Then, she had to quit her first and only accounting job when Davis had lost his mind, and her orderly life had gone to hell in a handbasket.
But Davis had paid the price, at least in her mind.
Sage said six months in jail and two years’ probation didn’t really count as paying a price, but Rosemary disagreed.
Davis had apologized to both of them, expressed remorse, and tried to make amends by helping her get this amazing job. The job was perfect.
The office was only a twenty-minute walk from her apartment, which was just enough time to ease into the day and decompress on the way home.
Armando was pleasant, charming, and eager to share his extensive knowledge, and the pay was fantastic.
She was making twice what she earned at her prior job and working fewer hours.
Armando prioritized family and encouraged everyone to leave the office by 5:30 or 6:00.
At her old firm, she was lucky if she got home by 8:00.
Sure, Lily was difficult, the espresso machine went on the fritz every other week, and Rosemary had gained five pounds from the fact that the office was above a gelato shop, but overall, the pros heavily outweighed the cons.
She pushed her wig into her sweaty head with her fingers and released a heavy sign.
If she wanted to keep her job, she needed to stop chasing windmills and finish the tasks assigned to her. If she didn’t ignore her gut and get back on track, she’d never get the financials for the Girard warehouse to Armando by the deadline.
She lifted her bleary eyes from the papers she’d been studying and looked around her office.
Redwelds covered the small table next to her desk and the floor around it.
Armando had an invoice for every single item purchased for the Penrose warehouse—from steel girders and truckloads of cement down to the doorbell camera and the hand dryers in the bathroom.
Plus, all the contractor service invoices.
It seemed odd to maintain every paper invoice, but meticulous recordkeeping shouldn’t be making her instincts flare. So why was it? She considered for a moment then grabbed the calculator from her desk, shoving it into her top drawer.
She did not have time for this.
She needed to get the Penrose files—which she wasn’t supposed to even have in the first place—back to the file room and get her ass in gear on the Girard project.
It would probably take four or five trips to carry the veritable sea of files back downstairs.
She could grab the cart from the copy room, but then she’d risk Lily seeing her and catching wind of the fact she’d taken the files out of the file room.
A ranting, raging Lily was not something she was willing to deal with today.
Plus, taking the files back on the cart would also mean riding in the claustrophobic elevator.
The elevator!
Rosemary’s fingers flew to the spreadsheets covering her desk, flipping through pages.
The payables list was organized by payee.
Not helpful. She leapt up and grabbed the file with the complete financials, her eyes absorbing line after line of data.
She likely wouldn’t find what she was looking for.
Construction financials didn’t break down every single payment.
Only an incredibly large expense would be called out separately.
Although expensive by an everyday person’s standards, an elevator wasn’t a big enough expenditure to be a line-item entry.
She jumped back up and rifled through the files.
Forty-seven minutes and two paper cuts later, she found what she was looking for.
One lone invoice from LG Mechanicals for the purchase and installation of a 3500-pound max capacity in-ground hydraulic elevator.
She pivoted and grabbed the two-foot-long, heavy-gauge cardboard tube labeled Plans.
She pulled the chunky blue-and-white construction schematics from their casing, dropped to her knees, and rolled them out on the ground.
She flipped past the initial survey and various exterior site plans that labeled setbacks, impervious surface, and drainage, until she found the sheets with the interior detail.
The building was a standard, large, open-floor-plan warehouse with a bathroom and office space.
There were large doors and ramps for loading, but she didn’t see anything that resembled any type of electronic lift, let alone an actual elevator.
She stared down at the invoice she’d set next to the plans, her heart racing in her chest.
$574,355.
That was a lot of money for an invisible elevator.
She stood on shaky legs, pulled a handwipe from the stash in her desk drawer, and cleaned her hands. If she got any of that blue ink from the plans on her favorite white jacket, it would never come out. That stuff stained everything it touched.
Her scalp twitched. Nerves had made it even sweatier. She pressed her fingers into the itchy spot, moving the wig against her wig cap to scratch the itch. She did not have time for toothpicks and a bathroom trip right now.
The Girard warehouse invoices were all still in the file room.
She was almost certain she’d seen an elevator invoice in there.
Had it been from the same company? She couldn’t remember.
She plopped down in her office chair and pulled up the Girard payables list on her computer.
At least she had access to the Girard electronic files and didn’t have to rummage through paper like she’d just done for Penrose. She searched LG Mechanicals.
Nothing.
It would take her hours to go through all the Girard invoices. And for what? To find an invoice for an elevator? Maybe there was an elevator in the Girard warehouse. Maybe they’d added one to Penrose and hadn’t added the updated plans to the files.
Right. Pannetone keeps every single piece of paper down to the invoice for the toilet paper dispenser, and he doesn’t put updated plans in the file?
Her scalp twitched again. A strong itchy twitch.
She needed to stop. How many times had her mother and sister told her she was relentless? Relentless with those murder mystery games. Relentless with crosswords and sudoku. Relentless with the 3D brainteaser puzzles her mother always bought for her. This wasn’t a game or a puzzle.
This was her job. And she had a deadline. She had to put the finishing touches on the Girard financials and get them to Armando this afternoon so he could review them. Especially since she was leaving a little early tomorrow to go to the theater with Sage.
She needed to focus on finishing the Girard work.
And she would. Right after she took a quick dash to the file room to take an even quicker look at the Girard plans to see if they showed an elevator. It would only take a few minutes, and she had to start returning the Penrose files anyway.
She pulled open the heavy fireproof door to the basement stairwell, the knob cool on her hand.
She whipped around the landing, numbers dancing in her head.
The Morescos had hundreds of businesses.
From tiny enterprises like vending machines to multiphase high-rise construction projects.
If someone had found a way to slip fake invoices into even a small portion of those businesses, it could mean millions of dollars.
Maybe tens of millions. Maybe even more.
Whomp!
Flesh collided with flesh, and the three Penrose files she’d been carrying went flying. Paper scattered like glass on concrete.
Lily staggered backward.
Instinct sent Rosemary’s arm flying out to steady her. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Brown pupils glittered from red, swollen eyes. Rivulets of eye makeup stained Lily’s cheeks.