An Auditor Set Six Bills Beside My Empty Work Chair

Ruth called me at seven the next morning.

"The lab won't destroy anything covered by the hold," she said. "The clinic's own copies need a separate step."

"Will his cleanup go ahead?"

"I've sent a preservation demand under the audit terms. I've also asked to inspect the stockroom."

"He'll say no."

"Then I will record that answer."

She sounded like someone reading a ruler. No anger. No space left for guessing.

By noon, Fletcher had agreed to a limited audit. Ruth told me his payment contract required access to claim support. He had asked her to focus on my fitting work. She had accepted access, without accepting his limits.

The meeting took place at the clinic on Thursday. Lena came with me. I could enter as an interview witness, but I could not treat patients or use the shop.

My chair had been pushed beneath the bench. All six birds were gone from the shelf.

Fletcher met us with coffee.

"We're all trying to protect patients," he said.

Ruth left her cup untouched.

"Then let's begin with what they said."

She placed six claim summaries on the conference table. The three letters were part of a wider review. Each claim billed for a complete replacement prosthesis.

Tamsin's was $24,600. Ernie Leach's was $23,800. Della Price's was $25,100. Cal Webb's was $22,900. Mira Chen's was $24,900. Wade Moss's was $26,300.

Ruth set a calculator beside them.

"Total paid by the plans: $147,600. These are the six claims we're testing."

Fletcher leaned back.

"Expensive work goes wrong. That's why we're having this talk."

"Three people say they received no replacement. We haven't completed interviews with the other three. Where are the delivery receipts?"

"In the claim packets."

June brought a folder. On each receipt, my name appeared in neat type above FITTER APPROVAL. There was no handwritten signature from me.

Under PATIENT ACCEPTANCE were six small signatures.

"I didn't approve these," I said.

Fletcher looked at Lena. "He always says that when there's trouble."

"There will be time for your account," Ruth said. "Mr. Rivera, identify the forms you normally used."

I showed her a blank delivery sheet from the shop's form book. It had room for the socket job number, the foot serial, the liner size, and the patient's walking check.

The six receipts lacked those fields.

"We simplified," Fletcher said.

"When?" Ruth asked.

"I'll have to check."

She wrote that down.

For Tamsin's claim, the packet included a scan image and a photograph labeled AUGUST DELIVERY. I recognized the small patch of blue tape on the socket in the picture.

"I used that tape in February," I said. "To mark the front during her check fit."

"Could you have used blue tape in August?"

"Yes. That's not proof by itself."

Fletcher spread his hands, as if we had reached the end.

Ruth asked for a full inventory list and the stock purchase records. Then she asked whether a foot listed in a paid claim might have stayed at the clinic for repair or return.

"Of course," Fletcher said. "Any fitter knows that."

"We'll need the repair and return records too."

His hands came back together.

I watched his thumb press the rim of his coffee cup. He had used that same still voice when he took my key. This time, someone else was writing down every answer. He asked June to close the blinds.

At three, she paused the meeting. The lab had confirmed it could release Tamsin's file to Ruth once it had her authorization. The other patient files would follow the proper audit process.

I stood by my bench while Lena spoke with Ruth in the hall.

June came over with a folded paper bag.

"Your knife. Wrapped in cardboard. And the birds."

"Thank you."

"He wanted them thrown out. I said they were yours."

I looked inside. One bird had a flat place where I had once cut too deep. A patient had said it looked like a bird sitting through bad weather. I had kept it.

"Did you call Ruth?" I asked.

June nodded.

"I gave her dates. Things I remember him handing me."

Fletcher's door opened, and she returned to her desk.

I did not want a rescue from June. I wanted her to have a record of her own words before someone supplied them for her.

From the waiting room came the hard tap of a walking pole.

Then another.

A woman stood inside the front door with a mud-stained case in one hand. Her black braids were tied under a wool cap. Melted sleet shone on her coat.

"I got your auditor's message," she said.

Tamsin Okafor set the case on the reception counter.

"This is the leg I actually took home."