3: 3
That night, the doorbell rang.
It was Hailey Fox, the receptionist.
She pushed her phone straight into my hands.
On the screen was a stretch of surveillance footage.
In the frame, right beside the shredder in Benjamin Sawyer's office, sat a stack of expense receipts he hadn't finished feeding through.
Dates, amounts, the letterheads of the other companies. All of it clear as day.
"He does this every month. Shreds the originals, makes fakes, and hands those to accounting."
I looked up at her.
"If we blow the whistle on this, he'll be cornered and dangerous. Aren't you scared?"
Hailey's eyes were steady.
"No. This dead-end job isn't worth much anyway."
"I just can't stand watching him push people around like that."
I thought back to the end of last year, when a client had reduced her to tears and she'd crouched in the corner of the hallway wiping her eyes.
I'd handed her a pack of tissues and said,
"It's fine. Just think of him as a dog. Don't waste your temper on a dog."
I never imagined she'd carry that with her all the way to today.
I thanked her. Hailey shook her head.
"That's not even all of it. This afternoon's client was behind closed doors with him for almost two hours."
"I caught one phrase. 'Split the accounting.'"
Double contracts, a shell company skimming the difference in the middle, pocketing the gap.
Standard Benjamin Sawyer.
After Hailey left, I made a trip to HR.
Rita Chavez was at her desk gnawing on an apple. She froze when she saw me, and her eyes flicked to the door on reflex.
"Relax. No one followed me."
I closed the door.
Rita was an HR hire who'd started the same year I did.
For four years she'd watched me get pushed around, and watched Benjamin work his hand deeper and deeper into the accounting pot.
Whatever she knew, she never kept from me.
"I want to see the agreement Benjamin signed when he was hired."
She didn't hesitate. She kept clear of the camera's blind spots.
She handed me the confidentiality and integrity pledge Benjamin had signed on his first day. It read:
Using one's position to accept benefits or misappropriate company assets, the company reserves the right to pursue legal liability.
Amounts exceeding two hundred thousand would be turned over to judicial authorities.
Three years of expenses and money runs passing through his hands, all told.
Just from the records I had in hand, it came to seven figures and then some.
I said quietly,
"I've made you take a risk."
Rita shook her head.
"I'm just an HR rep. None of this is my business."
"But if the company actually goes under, I'll have to job-hunt all over again. Not worth it."
I gave a small smile.
"Don't worry."
The company wasn't going down that easily.
The moment I stepped out, Benjamin's call came through.
His voice came at me full force.
"Gloria Simmons, get to my office right now and wait for me."
"If Mark Chavez's project really falls through, the loss is on your head."
"This industry only runs so wide. You make things hard for me, and I'll make sure you can't land a single deal in this city."
I went to his office.
He wasn't back yet. In the trash can beside the shredder there were still torn scraps of paper he hadn't finished.
Pieced together, it was a photocopy of a contract with XX Trading, and slipped between the middle pages, in handwriting:
"Payment account: XXXX."
His personal account.
Once I'd gathered the evidence, footsteps came from the doorway.
It was Benjamin outside, on the phone with someone above him.
"Don't worry, sir. Gloria's back, I've got eyes on her."
"Her resignation paperwork isn't done yet. I'll have her finish that deal! She wouldn't dare walk out on it."
"There won't be any loss to the company!"
Benjamin really did dream pretty.
By the time Benjamin came back into the office, I'd long since finished putting the evidence in order.
He saw me and rattled off a load of garbage. Treat the company like your home, once you're out in the world you have to learn to share responsibility, and so on.
I need you to teach me that?
Downstairs and heading home, I stood under a streetlight and dialed Mark Chavez.
"Mr. Chavez, don't commit to the project yet. Stall on your end another week."
Mark's voice carried a smile.
"You found something?"
"I found it."
I tipped my head back and looked at the lit window on our company's floor.
"Enough to last him a lifetime."
Mark was quiet for a beat, then said, "You've changed how I see you, young lady."
"I'm not particularly skilled,"
I said.
"I just didn't want to be finished off by a single sheet of A4 paper."
I hung up and walked along the road toward the subway station.
Tomorrow, certain people would never sit in that office pushing others around again.
