Jonah Fields stood outside Paula Nguyen's office, twisting a polishing cloth until it went damp.
"You need something, Jonah, or are you guarding my door now?" Paula asked, without looking up from her screen.
"Something," he said. "Something I should have said three days ago, and I am sorry about that part first."
That made her look up. She set her reading glasses down carefully.
"Close the door," she said. "Sit. And stop strangling the cloth."
He sat on the edge of the chair, the cloth knotted in his fists. "It is about Mr. Karp," he said. "And Mr. Crane. And a receipt I cannot stop thinking about."
"Receipts run this building, Jonah. Nothing about them is stupid. Start at the beginning."
"The beginning is Tuesday," he said. "Mr. Crane came in for his allocation meeting, and Mr. Karp took him into the consultation room, not the lounge. He told me to bring water and leave, which I did, except the door did not latch. I was not listening on purpose, Ms. Nguyen."
"I hear you," Paula said. "Keep going."
"He paid cash," Jonah said. "Forty thousand dollars, in a gray envelope. Mr. Karp counted it twice, then wrote a receipt, only he did not use the book from the drawer."
Paula's pen stopped moving. "Which book did he use?"
"One from his briefcase," Jonah said. "Black cover, smaller. And the number, I memorized it because it looked wrong. It started with a two. Two one four eight. All of ours start with a seven. Every receipt I have ever filed starts with a seven."
"Jonah," she said quietly, "are you certain about the cash?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And certain about the number?"
"I wrote it on my hand in the service corridor," he said, turning his palm up, though the ink was gone. "Then I wrote it in my locker notebook."
"Later," she said. "First, we check something together, so this is not just your word against his seniority."
She unlocked the tall cabinet behind her desk. Inside were the official receipt books of the Glass Pavilion, stacked by month. She laid the current book open between them.
"Read the top number aloud," she said.
"Seven three zero two," Jonah said.
"And the one beneath it."
"Seven three zero three." His voice steadied. "They all start with seven."
"They have started with seven for nine years," Paula said. "The two series belonged to a printing contract we ended before you were hired. Those books were supposed to be destroyed." She locked the cabinet again, and her hand missed the lock once before it caught. "You did right coming to me."
"I was scared it was nothing," he admitted. "He is senior. He tells everyone I am just the kid who details cars and smiles at the door."
"You are the kid who noticed what I missed," she said. "Wait here. Do not go back on the floor yet, and do not speak to anyone about this, not even Theo. Understood?"
"Understood."
She dialed from memory and straightened as if Serena could see her.
"Serena, it is Paula," she said. "I know you are out of state, but I have a report I will not put in an email. My junior concierge described a cash payment and a duplicate receipt book, and I verified the series discrepancy myself, just now."
Jonah could not hear the reply, but he watched Paula listen the way sailors watch weather.
"Forty thousand, from Elliot Crane, on Tuesday," Paula said. "The receipt series starts with two. Ours starts with seven. Yes. Yes, Jonah Fields, the concierge. He memorized the number." A pause. "No, I have not confronted Vince. I wanted your instruction first."
Another pause, longer this time, and Paula reached for her pen.
"Document everything," she repeated, writing as she spoke. "Change nothing. Let tonight's private viewing proceed exactly as scheduled." She swallowed. "Serena, if he has done this once, Meg's deposit patterns suggest he has done it more than once, and those clients trusted my floor."
Whatever Serena said then made Paula close her eyes for a moment.
"Make it honest," Paula said softly. "Yes. I remember. I will build the file tonight, quietly, and he will suspect nothing from me."
She ended the call and sat very still, the pen still in her hand.
Outside, a valet horn sounded twice, distant.
"Is she angry?" Jonah asked.
"She is calm," Paula said. "Which, between us, is more serious."
She rose, opened her door, and looked out across the bright showroom floor, past the Lumen One turning slowly under its lights, to where Vincent Karp stood laughing with two clients, one hand resting on a fender he had no right to sell, and Paula Nguyen watched him the way she had never watched him before.
Chapter 11: The Girlfriend's Questions