As Trip unlocked his way through the cabinets, Eric and Clare pulled out the lowest drawers and set them side by side on the desk. They ran out of room well before Trip ran out of files. “I’ll get the card table,” Flora said.
Clare tugged on the next-to-last drawer. Something shifted inside, thudding against the metal front.
“Look at all this.” Eric kept his voice low. “Do you think he’d have put it under her name? Or stuck it in anywhere?”
Clare drew the cabinet drawer out slowly. It didn’t look any different than the others. Lots of manila folders, color tabbed, hanging on rails.
“Mom kept everything.” Olivia looked up from where she was going through the top left drawer. “That’s the reason there were so many boxes. Everything and copies of everything.”
Clare unlatched the metal tab holding it in place and lifted it from the cabinet. She tilted the drawer one way, then another. Thunk. Thunk. “There’s something in here.”
Russ took the drawer from her. “See if you can get it out.”
Clare shoved the folders back. A hefty envelope file had been wedged into the bottom of the drawer. She grabbed it and wiggled it free. It was more than an inch thick, its flap held in place by two thick rubber bands. She showed it to Trip.
“I’ve never seen it before.” His mouth twisted. “That I can remember.”
“What is it?” Will asked.
Russ let the drawer thunk onto the carpet. “Let’s see.” He removed the rubber bands and opened the flap. The folder was stuffed with papers.
“Here.” Flora toted a card table through the door and kicked its legs into place. “You can put it here.”
Russ dumped the documents onto the surface. Clare picked one up: three sheets stapled together. The first two pages were an accounting, directed to the financial administration of the coalition, for thirty metric tons of steel rebar. It was detailed enough to make her eyes swim-cost of transport inter- and intracountry, cost of labor, percentage cost of insurance, interim and final disposition. The sheet stapled to it was much simpler: an invoice from Birmingham Steel to BWI Opperman for five metric tons of rebar. She flipped back to the second page. There was a string of signatures: one from the Secretary of Finance (Coalition), one from the Quartermaster General’s Office, one from the Field Director of Operations (BWI Opperman), and one from the CID Compliance Officer attached to 10th Financial Support. That signature was neat, firm, and recognizable. Lt. Col. Arlene Seelye.
“Russ.” Clare held the document out for him to see.
“I know.” He read the signature. He showed her the papers in his own hand. “This one’s for insulation. Five thousand square feet billed to the coalition, with an invoice for seven hundred and fifty square feet from a distributor in Kentucky.”
“Are they all bills?” Eric asked.
“This isn’t. This is a copy of a legal document.” Will had parked his chair at the edge of the card table and was flipping through a hole-punched collation of thirty or more pages. “I think it’s a contract for services between BWI Opperman and the coalition government.”
Olivia looked over his shoulder, her forehead creased. “My mom didn’t have anything to do with the legal department.”
Clare picked up another paper. Rubberized tiles. She read another. Ductwork. And another. Sewage piping. All of them billing for five or six or seven times the attached invoices to BWI. All of them signed Lt. Col. Arlene Seelye.
“I just noticed this.” Eric pointed to the bottom corner of one of the elaborate coalition accounting forms. There was a small slash, followed by MM.
“Mary McNabb.” Clare handed the form to Russ. “That was Tally’s real first name.”
“She prepared these,” Russ said, “and Arlene Seelye signed off on them. Every one.”
Clare leaned against the paper-strewn card table. “There must be fifty of these paired-off invoices.”
“More, I think,” Will said.
Trip ran his fingers over one. “These are all copies, not originals. Ellen must have spotted the discrepancies early on and started keeping track.”
“I don’t understand,” Flora said. “ Was Ellen involved in some sort of criminal activity?”
“No. It looks like she was documenting someone else’s fraud.” Russ pointed to the legal document in Will’s hand. “Can I see that?” Will handed it over. Russ scanned the first page. Flipped through a few more pages. Stopped and folded the sheet over. He held it out to Trip. “Double-check me. What’s this contract worth?”
Trip pulled a pair of reading glasses on and examined the page. “Sixty million dollars.”
Clare breathed in.
“BWI Opperman signed a contract in which it was paid sixty million for construction in occupied Iraq,” Russ said. “Your sister was the accounts-payable bookkeeper for that part of the business. It was her job to keep track of and pay the bills BWI Opperman’s special projects department generated.”
Trip nodded.
“Somehow, she got hold of the invoices on the accounts-receivable side.” Russ held up one of the coalition forms. “I doubt she was ever meant to see these. She put the two side by side and saw BWI Opperman was buying and shipping about a sixth of what they were billing the government for.”
“You mean they were pocketing the difference?” Will said.
Eric took the copy of the contract from Stillman. “Holy shit. That’s fifty million dollars.” The sum seemed to hang in the air for a moment.
“Fifty million dollars,” Will said, “and they just disappeared it into a bunch of papers.”
“The company wouldn’t even have needed to suborn the folks who hand out the contracts,” Clare said. “All they needed to buy was the army clerk who created the invoices and the finance investigator who was there to prevent fraud.”
“It sure explains Seelye’s actions, doesn’t it?” Russ’s voice was dry. “No wonder she wasn’t interested in splitting the million with Nichols. She was already on the BWI Opperman payroll.”
“They must have promised to pay Tally off, too.” Eric turned toward Russ. “Do you think they screwed her over after she did her part? Is that why she stole the cash?”
“No. She got paid. With Wyler McNabb’s job.” Clare looked at Eric. “Tally’s mother said Wyler always felt he owed his job to Tally. That was her payoff. He went from being a high school dropout to having an income that bought them luxury SUVs and casino vacations.”
Russ nodded. “He knew about the contract fraud. He didn’t know Seelye, but he knew about the fraud. That’s probably why he got named manager. One less person outside the fold. When she deployed a second time, her husband went over with the crew.”
“Huh.” Eric picked up the contract again. “And then he sees the money the DOD’s flying in and starts thinking, Why shouldn’t I get mine? If his wife can cover up the theft of fifty million, it’s a cinch she can hide a single pallet of cash.”
Russ chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’ll bet you a million of my own Opperman and Seelye had no idea that money had been stolen. They must have been shitting bricks when Nichols started investigating.” He tilted his head toward Flora and Olivia. “Excuse my French.”
“Wait.” Clare dropped the paper she had been holding. “Opperman?”
“ Mr. Opperman?” Olivia’s eyes were wide.
“Who do you think was behind this? The man is the CEO and controlling shareholder. He owns the company. The real theft here isn’t shrink-wrapped cash. It’s fifty million dollars, and it wasn’t stolen by someone seducing an MP or sweating a pallet onto a cargo plane. It was stolen by people wearing suits and signing agreements in air-conditioned offices. It was stolen by someone who believes people can be bought and sold with gifts and jobs and, and”-he looked at Olivia-“four-year scholarships to SUNY Geneseo.”