The Bank Records Put Her Lover Inside Every Missing Dollar

Beatrice brought fresh pencils and a pot of soup.

"We can eat while the scanner runs," she said.

The bank records covered Lantern's opening through the day of production. Mara kept the court's limits attached to our copies. These records were for the case, not for passing around town.

We laid them beside the customer schedule.

Every missing payment appeared.

Sometimes the bank had grouped several checks into one deposit. Beatrice opened the check images and matched the names. She marked each line only after the amount, date, and account agreed.

"There's Ruth," I said.

"All three of hers," Beatrice answered.

She worked past lunch. By late afternoon, the schedule had twenty-four sets of three checks and no gaps.

The $21,600 had gone into Lantern.

Then she followed what went out.

There was $6,400 in payments for a furnished rental near the South Carolina coast and travel reservations in Yer's and Owen's names. Another $2,600 had gone to Owen as a battery sourcing fee.

"Where's the battery order?" I asked.

"It isn't in the records they've produced. Mara can demand the support for that fee."

The account still held $12,600 from the customer deposits. Other transactions were small transfers between Lantern's own accounts, which Beatrice tracked through to the ending balance.

She wrote the sum in plain figures:

$12,600 remaining. $9,000 spent. $21,600 total.

I ran a finger down the page.

I had once made Yer a miniature curved staircase for our anniversary. It took me three tries to get the landing right. While I was in rehab learning how to stand, she had paid for a place to live with another man.

"Do you need a break?" Beatrice asked.

"Yes. Five minutes."

She closed the folder without telling me how to feel.

Mara took the tracing schedule back to court. The judge ordered that the identified $12,600 remain frozen pending the claims. The bank confirmed the hold.

That night, Yer called.

"You've trapped us here."

"You can go where you like. The money stays."

"The rental won't refund the deposit."

"That belongs on your accounting."

"You sound like that woman."

I looked at my pad. Beside Eli's wages, I had written $3,360 owed to our rail supplier.

"I sound like the person who has to pay our bills."

She hung up.

The detective met Beatrice and me at Mara's office. He asked how I had kept the pink copies and who had handled them since. He took copies of the scans and arranged to examine the originals without removing them from our custody that day.

He also interviewed customers separately.

A week later, Owen's lawyer produced an invoice for the $2,600 fee. It described six battery orders with no supplier names or shipping numbers.

Mara asked for proof of delivery.

None came.

Quarry Bridge supplied another message. Owen had told its manager that I was unable to sign, then sent the signed assignment the next morning. The bank forms showed that he and Yer both had access to Lantern's account.

His clean boots were in the same mud.

I still needed my actual tools.

Mara arranged a supervised inventory at the storage yard. Eli drove me there. The van stood behind a fence with my ladders strapped inside. The boxes held rails, call buttons, charge strips, and spare armrest switches.

Eli checked each item against my last stock list.

"Your torque wrench is here," he said.

I held its case like something found after a fire.

The storage bill was $480. I paid it from savings and kept the receipt for the case. The owner released nothing until both lawyers confirmed the court's written direction.

We brought the van back to the workshop. The landlord opened the door and stepped aside.

My bench was gone. Pale squares on the floor showed where its legs had stood.

"We can make another," Eli said.

"A little higher. My hip will like that."

Before we left, the yard owner called. Owen had arrived with a truck and a copy of Yer's old property list.

He was demanding the remaining demonstration chair.

Mara sent the order. The yard owner refused him and saved his security video.

The next morning, the detective called me back. He wanted that recording and the signed property list.

Then he said the prosecutor was reviewing charges against both Yer and Owen.

I set down the phone. Outside my kitchen window, a delivery truck stopped.

The driver carried a notice addressed to Cedar Rail. Yer had listed our shop equipment for an auction that was still scheduled for Saturday.