The recorded time was 8:43 p.m.
The service was listed as an in-person Portuguese interpretation at North Harbor.
At 8:43, I had been downstairs in a bumblebee costume, holding a paper cup of cider.
I checked the record twice.
Then I took a screenshot.
Monday morning, I went directly to Celia’s office.
She was wearing an expensive cream blazer and stirring artificial sweetener into her coffee.
“Those records aren’t mine,” I told her.
She barely glanced at the screen.
“Administrative entry error. It happens.”
“Then someone needs to correct it.”
She set down her spoon.
“Renata, you’ve been approved for consideration for our overseas remote-interpreting pilot. That’s a privilege.”
I stared at her.
“What does that have to do with a false certification?”
Her smile disappeared.
“It means you should be careful about creating problems for people who are trying to help you.”
There it was.
Not an explanation.
