The visitors were from the bank’s fraud team, called in by Mrs. Whitlock the Friday before. She had noticed the odd transfers herself and quietly asked the bank to watch the account. She had not known who was behind them until I slid the drive across the table. Gerald insisted I had set him up, but the timestamps on his messages matched the bank logs to the minute, and he stopped speaking mid sentence.

The investigators spent the afternoon in the boardroom. Tidewater Supplies was registered in the name of Gerald’s sister in law, and every pound had moved offshore within hours of each transfer. Gerald had planned to resign quietly at Christmas and leave the blame sitting on a junior accountant who would never be believed. He had picked me because I was young, quiet, and new to the city.

Before they left, Mrs. Whitlock asked me why I had kept the files. I told her about my father and his receipts. She nodded slowly and said the company had nearly lost eighty-four thousand pounds and its most honest employee in the same morning. The directors apologised to me one by one. I did not cry until I reached the stairwell, where I sat on the cold concrete and shook for ten minutes.

Gerald was charged with fraud that winter, and the bank recovered most of the money. Halden promoted me to head of internal audit, with a salary I once could not have imagined. I also built a training session for new staff called Keep Your Receipts, and every graduate learns it on day one. Every Friday I phone my father at his little shop and tell him about my week. He still says the same thing, and I still do.