The man had the look of someone who'd been expecting trouble and was mildly disappointed it had taken this long to arrive.

He was standing in the lobby of Calloway Industries when I walked in, arms crossed, dark jacket, the specific quality of stillness that high-level executives deployed when they wanted to look calm and actually felt the opposite. Beside him stood a PR woman with a lanyard and a smile that was doing its best.

"Dana Reyes," I said. I didn't extend a hand. Atlas Corp's forensic accountants didn't generally shake hands with the people they were auditing. Too much like a social occasion.

"Reid Calloway." His voice was even. His eyes were not. "VP of Finance. I've been assigned as your liaison for the duration of the due diligence."

"Liaison," I said. "Is that what we're calling it."

"It's what the merger agreement calls it," he said. "I'm here to facilitate access to Calloway's financial records, answer questions, and ensure—"

"And ensure I don't find anything that blows up the deal," I said.

A silence.

The PR woman's smile held.

"The deal is clean," Reid said. "The audit will confirm that."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," I said.

He looked at me for a second longer than necessary. Brown eyes, the kind that were slightly too perceptive for corporate comfort. He was in his mid-thirties — the youngest VP of Finance I'd encountered in twenty audits, which was either impressive or a red flag. I was reserving judgment.

I'd been reserving judgment since my boss, Marcus Hale at Atlas, had handed me the Calloway file with the words: *Be careful with this one. The VP of Finance has already pushed back on two requests for information. Either the company is clean and he's protecting his turf, or the company isn't clean and he's protecting himself.*

Marcus had not specified which option he believed.

I had my own read.

"I'll need a workstation," I said. "Secure access to the financial systems going back seven years. Hard copies of all board meeting minutes for the same period. And I'll want to interview department heads directly, without advance notice."

"The interviews will need to be scheduled," Reid said.

"The interviews will be unscheduled," I said.

"That's not how we—"

"That's how forensic audits work," I said. "Scheduled interviews give people time to coordinate their stories. Unscheduled interviews give me a better read on what's actually true."

He held my gaze.

"We have procedures," he said.

"And I have a mandate from the Atlas board to conduct a thorough due diligence," I said. "Those two things don't have to conflict. But if they do, the merger agreement specifies that Atlas's audit team has full cooperation from Calloway management."

"I know what the merger agreement specifies," he said.

"Good," I said. "Then we're on the same page."

I looked at the PR woman.

"I'll take that workstation now," I said.

She led me to the elevator.

I felt Reid watching me go.

I didn't look back.

My job was not to be liked. My job was to find the truth about Calloway Industries' books, and based on what Marcus had told me — the flagged transactions, the unusual Q3 write-offs, the board minutes that had been redacted before the first audit request — Calloway's books had something to hide.

The question was what.

And whether Reid Calloway was the one hiding it.

My money, at this point, was yes.

The elevator closed.

I pulled out my notebook.

At the top of a fresh page I wrote: *Calloway, Reid — VP Finance. Access. Motive. Proximity to irregularities.*

I underlined it.

I had work to do.
I had eight other audits behind me. None of them had started like this.

The standard opener: company sends a welcome packet, assigns you a conference room, everyone smiles and offers coffee and answers questions with the specific polish of a PR operation that has been briefed on how to handle auditors. Mild stonewalling came later, after people understood what you were actually looking for.

Reid Calloway had offered nothing. Not a conference room, not coffee, not even a practiced smile. Just his name, his title, and the flat statement that the books were clean.

People with clean books didn't meet auditors in the lobby.

People with clean books sent their administrative assistant with a visitor badge and a welcome folder.

I asked Calloway's receptionist, while the PR woman was on her phone, how long Reid had been waiting.

"About twenty minutes," she said.

Twenty minutes early.

For a forensic auditor he'd been told was arriving at nine.

That was not the behavior of someone who had clean books and a clear conscience. That was the behavior of someone who needed to establish control of the situation from the first moment.

I'd noted it.

I noted everything.

My job was to be a problem. Reid Calloway's job, as of today, was to manage the problem I represented. The question was whether he was managing a legitimate business concern — protecting his company's confidential financial information while complying with audit requirements — or managing something else.

The workstation was fine. The floor was busy enough that nobody was going to be able to watch every click. I pulled up the Calloway financial system, entered the audit credentials Marcus had pre-negotiated, and started with Q3.

Q3 was always where you started.

Q3 was where companies got creative.

The numbers loaded.

I started reading.

Something was wrong by the time I'd been at it fifteen minutes.

Something specific. In the sub-accounts.

I went back to the beginning and started over.

I had a long week ahead of me.