Lila Opened Her Passport While Felicity Reached For The Shred Schedule

Riverbend's reviewer called on Wednesday morning. Her name was Dana Cho, and she spoke as if each word had a place on a form.

“A disputed signature doesn't prove a false claim,” she told Nora, with Omar, Lila, and me on the call.

“We understand,” Nora said.

“And travel doesn't rule out an authorized person collecting an item.”

“Nobody collected anything for me,” Lila said. “Nobody was asked to.”

Dana asked for her statement in writing.

Lila took a clean sheet from Nora's assistant. She crossed out one word before signing.

“I wrote impossible,” she said. “I'll change it to didn't happen. I know where I was. I don't know everything that went on here.”

Dana thanked her for being exact.

I watched Lila date the bottom of the page. My own work had always depended on small marks. I had never felt their weight as clearly as I did then.

Lila had left Detroit on August ninth and returned on the nineteenth. Her airline records showed both journeys. Her sister had kept their lodging bill from Galway. Lila also had a clinic reminder offering her next polish in September.

“I still wear the same eye Eamon made two years ago,” she said.

Dana asked whether the August claim concerned a replacement, a repair, or a polish.

“A new custom prosthesis,” Nora answered, reading the itemized bill.

The line went quiet.

Then Dana said, “That gives me a delivery claim we can test.”

She opened a formal review of Lila's charge. Omar's joined it under his own complaint. Their signed forms allowed her to request the related clinic records.

By noon, Felicity had received those requests and Nora's letter asking her to preserve the disputed records.

She came into the stockroom holding both.

“You sent patients to a lawyer.”

“They chose to complain.”

“You think a lawyer will buy your groceries?”

“I think receipts should match deliveries.”

She shoved a box against my stool.

“You're paid to count these.”

I counted them. Then I wrote down the time and her words in my work log.

That evening, Nora explained that a letter did not lock a door or stop a shredder.

“I'm preparing a filing about your pay and the public blame,” she said. “We'll ask the court to preserve the records tied to it. Riverbend has its own contract rights. Neither process is a magic button.”

I looked at the balance in my checking account. It was $1,286. My rent was $980.

“Can I keep working?”

“If you're allowed. Keep doing the assigned work. Don't sign anything false.”

On Thursday, Dana arrived at the clinic with another reviewer. Felicity greeted them with coffee and small paper plates of cookies.

“We're so glad someone's helping us untangle Eamon's records,” she said.

I stood behind a shelf of shipping cartons.

Dana asked who created the charges.

“I handle the financial side,” Felicity said. “He supplies the clinical details.”

“Who recorded these deliveries?”

“We all help.”

Dana asked for the user history.

Felicity's hand stopped over the cookie plate.

“Our system is old.”

“We'll note what it can provide.”

The review was limited that day. They had two patient permissions and a request for records under Riverbend's agreement. Felicity handed over copies, but refused access to the full delivery binder.

“Other patients have privacy rights,” she said.

“Yes,” Dana said. “We'll use the proper review process for those records.”

She did not argue. She wrote down the refusal.

Through Nora, I offered my coded index for supervised review. Felicity objected before I could finish.

“Those are my clinic materials.”

I placed our signed agreement on the desk.

“The index belongs to me. It stays here under the agreement while I work here.”

Dana read the clause. Then she asked whether Felicity disputed the signature.

“Of course it's mine.”

“We'll record that too.”

We examined only Omar's and Lila's coded entries. Dana photographed the relevant cards with permission and recorded where the originals remained. She asked me to explain every mark.

“The crescent means I matched the finished piece to a signed receipt,” I said. “No crescent means that step wasn't complete.”

“Could you have forgotten?”

“Yes. That's why you need the other records.”

Felicity gave a short laugh.

“There. He admits it.”

Dana turned a page.

“I asked about the limits of his record. Now I'd like the casting and finishing logs.”

Felicity said she needed more time.

That afternoon, Nora filed the complaint and an urgent request to preserve records. A hearing was set for Friday morning. Felicity received the papers before closing.

At eight-twenty Friday, I arrived to find the cleanout moved forward.

A gray shredding truck waited at the back door. Felicity stood beside it with a cart holding six boxes.

The first box was marked August Deliveries.