both hands on top of it, like he was afraid it would float away.
“I should have spoken up years ago,” he said. “I’ve been thinking that every day for four years. I should have come forward. I should have called somebody. I didn’t. I was scared, and I told myself it wasn’t my business, and I was retiring anyway.” He looked at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I just said, “You’re here now.”
He took the rubber band off the folder.
Inside were copies of accounting reconciliations. Monthly reports he’d prepared for Buckeye in 2021 and 2022, comparing what the company’s books said against what the bank statements actually showed.
He’d kept copies of everything before he left. “Old habit,” he said. “Forty years of accounting. You keep
copies of everything.”
He spread the pages out on the table. He walked Helen and Russell through them, line by line, using a pencil to point.
