Chapter 4 - The Locked Archive
By noon, Leah had broken into the restricted payroll archive.
She did it without triggering the standard monitoring system by copying fragments through an old disaster-recovery server Raymond apparently forgot existed.
The first file opened at 12:18 p.m.
It contained eight years of payroll modifications.
Leah stared at it.
“Oh, hell.”
I moved behind her.
There were thousands of entries.
Not dozens.
Thousands.
Each modification carried one of four authorization codes.
Three belonged to middle managers.
The fourth belonged to Raymond.
Leah ran a comparison between authorized wages and deposited wages.
The first total appeared.
$6,842,119.
I thought I had misread it.
“That's confirmed?”
“That is what the system can prove immediately.”
“How many employees?”
“Two hundred seventy-three.”
I looked at the names.
Housekeepers.
Cooks.
Drivers.
Security guards.
Maintenance workers.
Warehouse staff.
Some still worked for me.
Others had disappeared from the company years ago.
Beside several names appeared a code.
VOLUNTARY TERMINATION.
Leah selected one.
Mateo Alvarez.
Hotel maintenance technician.
Employed four years.
Terminated three years earlier.
Reason listed as misconduct.
Then she opened his complaint file.
Empty.
“There should be documentation.”
“There isn't.”
She checked another terminated employee.
Same thing.
Another.
Same thing.
“These people didn't leave voluntarily.”
I knew it before she said it.
“They asked questions.”
Leah nodded.
“Looks that way.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Raymond.
Lunch moved to 1:30.
Need you there.
Important.
I ignored it.
Leah opened a hidden spreadsheet.
The columns were coded.
Employee number.
Authorized pay.
Actual deposit.
Transfer destination.
Percentage.
Supervisor bonus.
I stared at the final column.
“Bonus?”
Leah's expression hardened.
“They rewarded managers based on how much they diverted.”
There it was.
A system.
Not one thief.
A network.
The more a supervisor stole from employees, the more money that supervisor made.
Poor workers had been turned into profit centers.
A knock came at the study door.
My security chief, Marcus Reed, entered.
“I think we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Mercer just arrived.”
“Here?”
“At the service entrance.”
“Why?”
“He says he's conducting an employee compliance inspection.”
Leah looked at me.
“That isn't a coincidence.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Where's June?”
Marcus answered immediately.
“Laundry room.”
“Keep Mercer away from her.”
Marcus nodded and left.
I followed.
Daniel Mercer was waiting near the service corridor when I reached him.
He was fifty-one, silver-haired, perfectly dressed, and usually wore the comfortable smile of a man who believed nobody important would ever challenge him.
That smile vanished when he saw me.
“Mr. Blackwell.”
“Daniel.”
“I didn't know you were home.”
“My house.”
“Of course.”
He held a clipboard.
“Routine staff review.”
“At noon?”
“We rotate times.”
I looked at the clipboard.
June Carter's name was at the top.
Mercer saw me see it.
His fingers shifted.
“She's due for her annual evaluation.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“What are you evaluating?”
“Performance.”
“Salary too?”
His face barely moved.
But I saw it.
A flicker.
“Payroll handles compensation.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
I let the silence stretch.
Then I smiled.
“Good.”
He relaxed by half an inch.
“Finish your inspection tomorrow.”
“Mr. Blackwell, we're required—”
“Tomorrow.”
Mercer swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
As he turned away, I noticed something taped beneath his clipboard.
A small yellow note.
Three words had been written across it.
ASK ABOUT LETTER.
Mercer covered it with his hand.
Too late.
He left the house ten minutes later.
At 12:57 p.m., Leah called me back to the study.
She had found a folder we had not seen before.
The file name was simple.
JUNE CARTER - ESCALATION.
Inside was a scanned copy of the letter June wrote to me two years earlier.
Across the top, someone had typed a response.
May you like
DO NOT FORWARD TO BLACKWELL.
Below it was Raymond Cross's electronic signature.
