Dinner catering.
$11,400.
The project name in the billing field belonged to Laura and Ben Prescott.
I pointed toward it.
“Was Saturday’s dinner charged to the Prescotts’ job?”
Kelsey looked at Glenn.
He picked up the paper.
“Go upstairs.”
For once, Kelsey didn’t move immediately.
Then Bethany carried my drafting table toward the door.
Behind it, she found a stack of mail addressed to me.
One envelope came from the tax agency.
The next morning, my accountant Frank read it with me.
“They’re proposing thirty-one thousand two hundred dollars in tax and penalties.”
“For income I never got.”
“I know.”
I showed him Glenn’s supposed corrected form.
Frank examined it.
“This looks corrected.”
“It is corrected.”
“No. It looks corrected.”
He turned the screen toward me.
“I can’t find evidence this was ever filed.”
My stomach tightened.
We had already disclosed the disputed income with my return.
Now the agency wanted records.
“We have thirty days,” Frank said. “We answer truthfully.”
The bank called later that week.
They wanted me to certify the final construction draw.
“I’ve withdrawn as architect of record.”
The representative paused.
“Were you the architect on the August certification?”
“No.”
“The document bears your name.”
“I know.”
“And your seal.”
“I know.”
“Are you stating you did not sign it?”
“Yes.”
He asked me to send that in writing.
I agreed.
I also told him where my embosser had been found.
Mom called less than an hour later.
“The bank paused the draw.”
“I assumed they would.”
“Glenn can’t pay the framers.”
“That isn’t something I can fix.”
“Are you doing this because of the seating chart?”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m doing it because of a signature.”
“Families cover for one another.”
“Who covered for me when one of your guests thought I was the caterer?”
She said nothing.
Then she hung up.
A few days later, Laura Prescott contacted me.
She had seen the marble wall behind Kelsey during the livestream.
We met at a coffee shop.
Laura placed a stone sample on the table.
Then an invoice.
“My husband and I paid Glenn for fourteen slabs.”
I looked at the document.
“And?”
“Our house has six.”
I already knew what she was going to say.
“The other eight look exactly like your mother’s dining-room wall.”
I opened my material schedule.
The stone I specified for the Glen View addition was different.
“I can identify what I drew and what was installed,” I said. “I can’t tell you what Glenn promised you because I wasn’t there.”
Laura nodded.
“That’s enough.”
At work, Walt gave me another project.
Harbor House.