Mark Carter.
My husband’s name.
I froze.
At first, I assumed it was ordinary business paperwork.
Mark worked for the company.
His name appeared on documents all the time.
But then I saw another name.
A subcontractor Mark had mentioned several times at home.
I remembered the conversations because Mark had complained about the company changing contractors.
I put the paper back exactly where I found it.
I told myself it was none of my business.
But the following week, Mr. Harrison asked me a strange question.
“Linda, does your husband ever talk about the Riverside project at home?”
I stopped dusting.
“Sometimes.”
“What does he say?”
I hesitated.
“Mostly that it’s been a nightmare.”
Mr. Harrison nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
I waited.
He didn’t explain.
A few days later, I noticed another document.
Then another.
This time, I saw numbers.
Large numbers.
Much larger than anything I had ever dealt with.
I didn’t understand the accounting, but I understood enough to know something wasn’t right.
The same subcontractor kept appearing.
The same payments.
The same approvals.
And in several places, my husband’s name appeared next to them.
I wanted to believe there was an innocent explanation.
I desperately wanted there to be.
