My Boss Told Me To Keep My Head Down When I Found The Missing Funds — He Didn’t Know I Already Made Copies

Part 1

The fluorescent lights in the accounting department hummed a low, steady note that always made my temples throb by three in the afternoon.

I kept my head angled down toward my monitor.

My fingers hovered over the ten-key pad as I cross-referenced the physical invoices with the digital ledger.

This was my third month as a temp.

The promise of a permanent position dangled just out of reach.

Greg had made it clear that my conversion to full-time depended entirely on his glowing recommendation.

He was the department head.

He wore suits that cost more than my car.

He had a habit of leaning over my desk just a little too close when he needed something rushed.

I hated the smell of his expensive cologne.

It lingered in the air long after he walked away.

I tapped my pen against the desk.

The numbers on the screen for the latest vendor payout didn’t match the standard contract rates.

It was a slight variation.

Just a few percentage points higher than usual.

I pulled the file for the previous quarter.

The same discrepancy stared back at me.

It was always the same three vendors.

Always approved directly by Greg.

My stomach tightened.

I stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from my skirt.

The walk to his glass-walled office felt much longer than it actually was.

I knocked softly on the open door frame.

He didn’t look up from his phone.

I cleared my throat.

He finally raised an eyebrow.

I held out the printout.

My voice came out smaller than I intended.

I pointed to the highlighted line items.

He snatched the paper from my hand.

His eyes scanned the page for barely a second.

He tossed it into his recycling bin.

He leaned back in his leather chair.

He steepled his fingers.

The silence stretched between us.

He asked if I enjoyed working here.

I swallowed hard.

He suggested that temps who look too closely at things above their pay grade often find themselves looking for new jobs.

He turned back to his phone.

The dismissal was absolute.

I walked back to my desk.

My hands shook slightly as I reorganized my stapler and tape dispenser.

The threat hung heavy in the sterile office air.

I needed this job.

The rent was due in two weeks.

My savings account was practically empty.

I looked at the digital clock on my computer.

It was four forty-five.

The office would be mostly empty by six.

I stayed at my desk.

I pretended to be deeply engrossed in a training manual.

The overhead lights began their automated dimming sequence.

The steady hum of the HVAC system became the only sound on the floor.

I logged into the server using the backup administrator credentials I wasn’t supposed to know about.

The IT guy had left them written on a sticky note under his keyboard months ago.

I navigated to the restricted vendor files.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

The restricted folder opened without a prompt.

I found the master spreadsheets.

The scope of the variance was staggering.

It wasn’t just a few percentage points.

It was tens of thousands of dollars funneled out every quarter.

All channeled into shell accounts tied to the three specific vendors.

I opened the print dialog box.

I selected the heavy-duty copier in the supply room down the hall.

I didn’t dare save the files to a USB drive.

IT tracked external media connections.

I hit print.

The status bar filled slowly.

I stood up and walked briskly toward the supply room.

The hallway was completely deserted.

The heavy door of the supply room clicked shut behind me.

The copier whirred to life.

The green light swept back and forth.

The pages slid into the output tray one by one.

I gathered them quickly.

I slid the warm stack of paper into the false bottom of my oversized tote bag.

I zipped the compartment shut just as the door handle rattled.

The heavy wood swung inward.

Greg stood in the doorway.

He held his leather briefcase in one hand.

His eyes locked onto mine.

He looked at the empty output tray of the copier.

He looked back at my bag.

He asked what I was still doing here.

I adjusted the strap on my shoulder.

I gripped the canvas tightly.

I told him I was just finishing up some filing.

He stepped fully into the small room.

He blocked the only exit.

He didn’t move out of the way.