The next morning, he went to the Dayton public library, where the periodicals section was warm and nearly empty. A trade publication had reported that Blackridge was close to signing a five-year precision-assembly supply agreement with Meridian Medical Devices, an Indiana manufacturer. The reported contract value was approximately $42 million, although its full value depended on delivery volumes, technical acceptance, and performance milestones over several years. The article noted that standard closing conditions included assurances concerning material undisclosed wage disputes and the reliability of the supplier's financial reporting.
Evan did not know whether those were the final contractual terms. He did know that a company preparing to certify its payroll compliance had a reason to care about thirty or more employees who believed they had not been paid. A small issue could become large without ever making the supply contract vanish. He copied the article's public summary and wrote down the name of the independent assurance firm identified as participating in transaction readiness work.
He sat beside the library window while buses moved through slushy streets outside. For the first time, the scale of the problem frightened him. The contract represented years of work for hundreds of people, including colleagues he liked, supervisors who did not particularly like him, and families he would never meet. Exposing improper records could delay a good contract, but allowing a false certification might create an even more dangerous outcome for everyone involved.
He thought about calling his former union representative from an earlier job, although Blackridge's current facility was not unionized. He thought about speaking with a lawyer, approaching the state wage division, or asking the board for a hearing. All were possibilities, but he needed first to determine whether he stood alone with an unusual envelope or had found a repeatable method used against a group of employees.
Curtis Bell answered his call while stacking presents in a bedroom closet. His youngest child could be heard asking about wrapping paper in the background. Evan explained what he had learned from Becket and asked whether Curtis would be willing to compare dates and amounts. Curtis did not hesitate.
"They gave me certificates for every dollar," he said. "My wife went to the store Saturday. The cashier apologized like it was her fault. Manager came over and said the system wouldn't accept them."
"Did you get anything in ordinary pay?"
"Not that portion. The bank account's the same as it was Friday. Evan, I had our heating bill scheduled around that money."
Evan closed his eyes. Curtis was not an abstraction in a spreadsheet. He was a father with a daughter who loved drawing animals and a son who had recently broken his wrist on a skateboard. Evan asked permission to record Curtis's account in a confidential summary, told him he would keep the original details private, and offered to share the Becket purchase restriction so Curtis could decide for himself what to do next.
Mara confirmed her experience a few minutes later. She had received five certificates totaling the amount due on her December statement, and the expiration date was identical to Evan's. She was angrier than he was, though her anger came out as a dry laugh. "They made us work overtime fixing the November sensors," she said, "and now they're paying us with paper that's older than some of the machines."