“Who had access to approve payments over a certain amount?”
“Me and Monica,” I said. “Trevor could request a payment. He could put in a purchase order. But he couldn’t approve one on his own. Anything over five thousand needed one of us.”
Russell turned the bank statement around so it faced me. He pointed to a line near the bottom of the page, in small gray type. It was a notation I’d looked at a hundred times without really seeing.
Auth. Admin ID: MH-17.
“Whose code is that?” he asked.
I stared at it.
“That’s Monica’s,” I said slowly. “MH. Monica Hale. Seventeen was her employee number.”
“At trial,” I said, “they talked about that. The prosecutor said that code only showed who typed the transaction into the system. Not who approved it. Monica testified that she entered the payments because I told her to, and then I approved them with my own login.”
