And she took my phone.
The phone that had my banking app on it. The phone that got the two-step verification codes.
She was gone for almost two hours.
When she came back, she handed me the phone and a cup of vending machine coffee and said, “All fixed.”
I sat there at Opal’s kitchen table at midnight and stared at that calendar box.
It didn’t prove anything. Not by itself. I knew that. It didn’t prove Monica had used my phone to approve that transfer. Maybe she’d fixed the payroll, just like she said.
But it showed a way.
A way it could have happened, without me.
For four years, everybody had asked me, If you didn’t approve those transfers, who did? How? And I’d never had an answer. I’d just kept saying, I don’t know. I don’t know. It wasn’t me.
