Chapter 3

The hearing did not adjourn so much as collapse.

After Marlene produced the county audit request, Boyd Wheeler sat at the head of the board table with his hands flat on the wood, fingers spread, like he was trying to keep the table from flying apart. His mouth opened twice. No words came out. Harold, the regional supervisor from Dallas, asked to see the photocopy. Priya handed it to him without looking at Boyd. Harold studied it for a long moment, then set it down and wrote something in his notebook.

"Board," Harold said, in the flat voice of a man who had spent his career avoiding scenes exactly like this, "I think we should take a recess."

"There's nothing to recess," Boyd said. It came out too fast. "This is a clerical error. A mix-up. The management company is at fault here—"

"The management company didn't sign this," Priya said quietly. She had sat back down at the clerk's desk, and she was looking at Boyd now, her eyes behind her glasses unblinking. "I didn't sign it. You did."

Boyd pointed at her. His finger trembled. "You planted this. You called it a clerical adjustment—"

"It is an adjustment," Priya said. "I corrected the ledger to match the original record. The carbon copy was not planted. It was made at the same time as the original entry, by the same clerk, at the same desk, with the same pen." She paused. "Your pen, Mr. Wheeler. The one you borrowed from my desk because you'd left yours in the car."

Boyd blinked. "I don't— that's not—"

"You borrowed it," Priya repeated. "You asked for a pen to 'expedite the paperwork.' You signed the fine form for lot 11, initialed it B.W., and handed it back to me. I filed it. I copied it. I kept the carbon." Her voice dropped. "That's procedure. Even for the president."