Chapter 3: Every Number Tells a Story

Chapter 3: Every Number Tells a Story

Chloe Sterling’s presence transformed the manager’s office. She didn’t just occupy the space; she conquered it. Setting her leather briefcase on the desk Mark had left cluttered with fast-food wrappers and old schedules, she swiped it all into the trash with a single, dismissive gesture. She moved with the precise economy of someone who believed her time was more valuable than anyone else’s.

“My father is a busy man, Mr. Thorne,” she began, powering on a sleek, ultra-thin laptop. “He doesn't appreciate anomalies, especially when they are brought to him by an assistant manager. This had better be more than a subordinate with an axe to grind.”

Her skepticism was a physical force, pressing down on him. She was an obstacle, a gatekeeper sent to protect her father’s most precious resource: his time. Ethan met her icy gaze without flinching.

“I don’t have an axe,” he said calmly. “I have data.”

He laid out the daily reconciliation reports from the previous week on the newly cleared desk. Each one was clean, balanced, and signed with his neat, block-lettered signature. He then produced copies of the reports from the weeks prior, signed by Mark, each one showing a handwritten adjustment for a cash shortfall.

“This is the week Mark Vance was on vacation,” Ethan explained, tapping the clean reports. “Sales are up 22%, and cash reconciliation is perfect. These,” he indicated the other pile, “are the four weeks before he left. A cumulative shortage of over twelve hundred dollars.”

Chloe scanned the documents, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “An interesting correlation,” she conceded, her tone still frigid. “But it’s not proof of wrongdoing. It could be a dozen things. A new cashier, a change in procedure, you being more… diligent.”

Before Ethan could respond, the front door of the shop chimed. Mark Vance strode in, tanned a blotchy red from his vacation and wearing a triumphant smirk. He stopped dead when he saw the gleaming Audi in the parking lot and Chloe Sterling in his office. His smirk faltered, quickly replaced by a greasy, sycophantic grin.

“Chloe! What a surprise!” he boomed, his voice a little too loud. “If I’d known you were visiting, I’d have cut my trip short. What brings you down to our humble little corner of the empire?”

Chloe’s expression didn't thaw. “I’m conducting a performance review, Mark. Mr. Thorne reported a financial anomaly that my father found… concerning.”

Mark’s gaze snapped to Ethan, his eyes flashing with pure venom. The friendly facade dissolved. “Anomaly?” He let out a harsh, barking laugh. “You mean the kid here doesn’t know how to handle daily cash-outs? I told you, Thorne, you sweat the small stuff too much. This isn’t some university accounting problem. This is a real business. Mistakes happen. Cashiers give the wrong change. It’s the cost of doing business.”

He turned back to Chloe, trying to frame it as Ethan’s incompetence. “I’ve been running this store for ten years. It’s consistently in the top twenty percent for profit. I think my record speaks for itself.”

“Your record is precisely what I’m here to examine,” Chloe said, her voice cutting him off.

The challenge was set. Mark, cornered and desperate to reassert his dominance, puffed out his chest. He saw an opportunity to humiliate the upstart who had dared to go over his head.

“Fine,” he sneered, waving a hand at Ethan. “You think you’re so smart? You want to do my job properly? Be my guest. Audit the whole damn month. Go on. Pull the invoices, check the logs. Show Ms. Sterling here where I’ve been stuffing my pockets. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

It was the single biggest mistake of his life. A wave of malicious compliance washed over Ethan. This wasn't a challenge; it was an invitation.

“I’ll need access to the transaction archives and the physical invoice binders,” Ethan said to Chloe, completely ignoring Mark.

Chloe gave a curt nod. “You have it.”

For the rest of the day, Ethan transformed the small back office into a war room. Mark fumed from his glass-walled cage, making loud, performative phone calls about supply orders, trying to project an aura of control he no longer had. Chloe sat in the corner, a silent observer, her eyes tracking Ethan’s every move as he worked. She was a judge and a jury, and his entire future depended on the case he was building.

He became a forensic accountant from hell. His eidetic memory, usually a tool for exams and inventory, became a weapon. He didn’t just look at the numbers; he saw the story they told. He started with the voided transactions, just as he’d planned. He printed a list of every single cash sale that had been voided using Mark’s manager override code in the past month. There were dozens.

Then, he began the painstaking work of pulling the corresponding paper invoices. One by one, he laid them out.

Invoice #4582: A tire rotation and balance. Cash payment. Voided. Invoice #4591: A fluid flush. Cash payment. Voided. Invoice #4604: A battery replacement. Cash payment. Voided.

Chloe watched, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She was still looking for the flaw, the rational explanation.

And then Ethan found the key. The $150 brake pad replacement from the day of their confrontation.

He pulled the hard copy of the work order. It was all there: the customer’s name, the service performed, and the specific parts used. Part #78B-4, Premium Ceramic Brake Pads, Quantity: 2 boxes.

“Can you pull up the inventory log for this part number?” Ethan asked Chloe, his voice low and focused.

She typed silently on her laptop. A graph appeared on her screen. “Two boxes of 78B-4 were deducted from inventory on that date, at 2:30 PM.”

Ethan slid the voided transaction slip next to the work order. “The system says the sale was canceled at 5:45 PM by Mark’s code. But the inventory system says the parts were used. The parts left the building, Ms. Sterling. The labor was performed. The cash was taken.” He let the words hang in the air. “But the transaction was erased.”

Chloe leaned forward, her professional mask finally showing a crack. She zoomed in on the data on her screen.

Ethan didn’t stop. He was a shark that had tasted blood. He found another one. An alternator replacement. Part deducted from inventory. $450 cash sale. Voided. Then another. A full set of premium tires. $880. Voided. The pattern was undeniable. It wasn't random cashier errors. It was a targeted, systematic theft, specifically targeting high-margin jobs paid for in untraceable cash. Mark wasn't just skimming; he was gutting the store's profits from the inside out.

He laid three complete sets of documents in front of Chloe—the work order showing the job was done, the inventory log showing the parts were used, and the POS report showing the sale was voided. It was a perfect, damning trifecta of fraud.

Chloe stared at the evidence, her analytical mind processing the cold, hard facts. The skepticism in her eyes was slowly being replaced by a glimmer of something else: fury. She had come here expecting to put an overealous employee in his place. Instead, she’d found a parasite latched onto her family’s company.

She looked up from the papers, her gaze meeting Ethan’s. The ice in her eyes had been forged into a weapon. The wall between them had shattered. She was no longer an obstacle. She was an ally.

Her voice was a low, sharp whisper, filled with a cold promise of retribution.

“Find every last one.”