Dante watched him carefully.
“Someone used your account repeatedly?”
Julian’s voice rose.
“Yes.”
“Over multiple days?”
“Yes.”
“And knew which junior accountant to blame?”
Julian looked at Mara with naked hatred.
“You think she’s innocent because she saved some files?”
Dante said nothing.
Julian turned toward the employees outside the conference room.
“Ask them what she’s like.
Ask anybody.
She gets overwhelmed.
She makes mistakes.
She apologizes to furniture.”
Nobody laughed.
Mara wished that part did not hurt.
It did.
For years she had believed competence should be enough.
Arrive early.
Check the work.
Ask questions.
Avoid conflict.
Be useful.
She had not understood that some people interpret quietness as permission.
Dante looked through the glass at the accounting floor.
“Did any of you review these accounts?”
A senior employee slowly raised his hand.
Julian snapped his head around.
The employee swallowed.
“Parts of them.”
“And?” Dante asked.
The man looked at Mara.
“She flagged unusual changes twice.”
Julian’s face hardened.
“Be careful.”
The warning was quiet, but everyone heard it.
That was Julian’s mistake.
Another employee spoke.
“She asked me whether settlement destinations were supposed to change after reconciliation.”
A third voice came from farther away.
“I told her to ask Julian.”
Then another.
“She did.”
The silent witnesses were no longer silent.
Not because they had suddenly become brave, but because Mara’s records had given them something solid to stand on.
Dante asked whether anyone had seen Mara authorize an unscheduled transfer.
Nobody had.
Whether anyone had seen Julian instruct staff to stop questioning the waterfront reconciliations.
Two people had.
Julian’s anger became panic.
“This is absurd.
You’re letting a room full of frightened employees rewrite history because a criminal walked into our office with a gun.”
Dante’s eyes cooled.
For the first time that night, Mara saw Julian realize whom he had insulted.
