THEY MOCKED HER CLOTHES AT THE INTERVIEW

Taylor had met Teresa Salazar over a loading-dock scale, not a conference table. Teresa was the sort of driver who could tell a damaged pallet from the sound it made when a forklift lowered it. She brought her own coffee in a dented blue thermos and wrote down arrival times even when the receiving clerk told her the computer had everything under control.

The carrier's official response arrived shortly after noon on the second day of Taylor's review. Teresa's name was not attached to a Cypress load. It was attached to a different delivery for the legitimate trucking company, half an hour earlier. The signature on the Cypress receipt looked like a copy of the signature on the first document.

Noah compared the scans. “Same pen break. Same tiny dot after the surname. Someone reused the image.”

“Or an automated process copied it by accident,” Taylor said, thinking aloud.

Noah nodded. “Possible. But the truck identifiers are different. Let's ask whether either was at the gate.”

The gate system recorded entries by license plate, while a separate maintenance log noted refrigeration units brought in for repairs. No record supported the Cypress trailer's arrival. A pallet count attached to the invoice matched one already billed by the first carrier.

Taylor's pulse quickened. An accounting error had led them to an event that apparently hadn't happened. It still did not identify the person responsible.

At five o'clock, she presented her work in Noah's presence. Victor listened without interrupting. Priya Desai asked how they could rule out late data entry or an administrative merge. Taylor showed the independent gate and carrier records, then identified the unanswered questions in a separate column.

“I can say we have a duplicate charge, a delivery receipt that appears to reuse a signature, and an adjustment concealing the difference on one report,” she concluded. “I can't say who created the documents or whether there's a wider pattern. Not yet.”

Victor studied the report. “My father's signature appears on the initial Cypress vendor authorization.”

Taylor turned toward him. “Did he approve the company?”

“I don't know.”

“Then don't let anybody tell you that signature answers the question.”

Priya asked Noah to expand the formal investigation under a revised scope. Taylor's two-day contract was nearly over. When Victor asked whether she'd stay, she said she needed an actual job description and a supervisor independent of the finance department. Otherwise, her findings could become an argument between two men with titles while she was blamed for the outcome.

Noah offered a six-week analyst contract through his firm, subject to its conflict checks and procurement requirements. It wasn't permanent, but it was real work. Taylor accepted only after the agreement spelled out her reporting line and protections for raising concerns.

On the way home, she stopped at the grocery wholesaler to return a borrowed ledger book. Her former manager, Calvin Price, was waiting by the receiving office.

“Big-time corporate investigator now?” he asked with a grin.

“Temporary analyst.”

“Same difference to somebody who still has a busted freezer.”

He handed her the final paycheck for the hours she'd worked. Then his smile faded. “You ought to talk to Mrs. Ruiz if you've been looking at Anderson's shipping charges.”

“Why?”

“Her family orchard. They've been calling here asking if we can take their peaches directly. Anderson says they're behind on deductions, so it's holding back part of their payment.”

Taylor hesitated. The contracted investigation wasn't permission to solicit private information on the street. “If she has a dispute, there's a formal contact through the audit firm. I can give her the public number.”

Calvin nodded. “You always were careful.”

“Only because I couldn't afford to pay for mistakes.”

He gave her the number for Rosa Ruiz, who ran a small orchard with her daughter, Marisol. Taylor passed the information to Noah that evening, disclosing how she'd learned it. Noah arranged for the company to invite grower complaints through a secure channel, rather than sending Taylor out to collect them unofficially.

Two days later, Rosa came to the auditors' meeting room carrying a binder held shut with an elastic band. Her fingernails were stained by orchard soil, and the tan line on her wrist marked the place where she'd worn the same watch for years.

“You're the woman who spotted the bad number?” Rosa asked Taylor.

“I noticed one difference. Other people are helping verify it.”

Rosa set the binder down. “My husband planted our first trees twenty-six years ago. He died last spring. They say we owe thirty-six thousand four hundred dollars in special freight deductions. I want somebody to explain what special freight we used.”

Taylor opened her own blank notebook. “Please tell Noah which records you're comfortable sharing. He'll handle the originals.”

Rosa produced packing tickets, bank statements, and email correspondence. She'd challenged the deductions twice. Both complaints had been answered with a standard message saying the costs were authorized under her grower agreement. Neither reply named a truck or a date.

“Thirty-six thousand is our winter pruning payroll,” Rosa said. “I don't have another winter hidden under the bed.”

Noah asked permission to obtain the corresponding transactions. The next morning, the records showed two Cypress invoices of eighteen thousand two hundred dollars each charged against the Ruiz account. Neither corresponded to a verified delivery.

Taylor read the figures twice. The amount she had discovered at the interview was no longer an abstract difference on an executive summary. It was half of a deduction that might cost a dozen workers their winter pay.

Rosa watched her carefully. “Can I get my money back?”

“I can't promise that,” Taylor said. “I can promise that your documents will be reviewed and the people responsible for deciding will see them.”

Rosa's shoulders fell a little. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but she nodded. “Thank you for not pretending.”

Victor joined the meeting only after Rosa agreed. He didn't sit at the head of the table. He asked her what the withheld money meant in practical terms.

“It means I choose between fixing a pump and paying people who worked for me all summer,” she told him. “Your company has the money. My workers don't.”

Victor didn't offer a dramatic personal check. He asked Priya what the company could lawfully do while preserving the investigation and treating other growers consistently. Priya described a process for freezing contested deductions, reviewing similar accounts, and seeking board approval for temporary payments where the contract allowed them.

Rosa stood. “I don't want a favor, Mr. Anderson. I want the payment we earned.”

“I understand,” Victor said. Then he corrected himself. “I'm beginning to.”

After she left, Taylor found a photograph tucked into the back of the binder. It showed Robert Anderson at the Ruiz orchard's twenty-fifth anniversary, holding a crate of peaches beside Rosa's late husband. A handwritten note on the reverse said: We built this on a handshake, but we keep it with honest books.

Taylor handed it to Victor. He read the note, and his face changed.

“My father knew them.”

“He knew a lot of growers,” she replied. “The question is whether the company still acts like it does.”

That night, an email reached Noah's secure inbox from an anonymous account. It contained one sentence: STOP CHECKING CYPRESS. THE PEOPLE WHO SIGN THE CHECKS ALSO CONTROL YOUR BADGE.

Taylor read the forwarded warning in Noah's office the next morning. He was already contacting security to preserve the message's technical details.

She took a breath. “So somebody knows we're getting close.”