Harold Prescott wore expensive suits, read financial newspapers and pretended not to notice anything.
But Monica saw him sign agency checks.
She heard him discussing “placement fees.”
She recorded him once saying:
“If one leaves, just replace the unit.”
The unit.
Not woman.
Not employee.
Unit.
Katherine supplied the cruelty.
Harold supplied the machinery.
The breakthrough came on day fifty-six.
Katherine left for lunch.
Her office door remained open.
Monica entered with a dust cloth.
She moved carefully.
Bookshelves.
Picture frames.
Bronze sculpture.
Leather visitor ledger.
Every item recorded automatically through the camera in her collar.
Then she saw the folder.
It lay open on Katherine’s mahogany desk.
Forty names.
All women.
Amounts beside each one.
$15,000.
$22,000.
$40,000.
Columns marked:
PLACED.
PENDING.
RELOCATED.
Some had red Xs.
One name was crossed out completely.
Beside it, Katherine had written:
DISPOSED.
Monica’s stomach tightened.
She photographed every page.
Twelve purchasing families.
Locations.
