"That she's associated with the company for purposes of receiving legal documents. It doesn't prove she owns it, and it doesn't prove where any money went. For that, we need bank records and the company's underlying agreements."
"Can we get them?"
"Not simply because we bought Belmont Row. We can inspect the records of our own company, but Lakeside's bank belongs to Lakeside. The district attorney's office can seek legal process if they have grounds."
Loretta appreciated the answer. The ability to purchase a corporation gave an owner considerable authority inside that corporation, but not a private right to break into a vendor's accounts. She had seen executives confuse those things before, and she refused to become one of them. She told Nia to prepare a concise referral package for outside counsel to review, preserving the difference between suspicious indicators and proven wrongdoing.
That afternoon, Loretta called Patricia and asked about Belmont Row's employees. Not the executives whose biographies filled the company website, but the people who answered calls, scheduled conference rooms, cleaned public spaces, and kept the elevators and lights working. Patricia admitted she had met only a handful of them during the acquisition. The seller's representatives had insisted on tightly managed tours, and Bradley had personally handled most introductions.
"Then let's make sure the auditors have someone other than Bradley to talk to," Loretta said. "Not so they'll say what we want. So they'll be free to tell us what they actually know."
Patricia promised to arrange private interview windows during the Monday audit. She also asked whether the chief executive announcement should be delayed until all questions were resolved. Loretta considered the possibility, imagining Bradley quietly learning that the new owner had lost confidence in him and spending the weekend shaping a story about betrayal. She preferred to enter the room before he understood that the people waiting for answers included someone he had already met.
On Friday morning, Teresa was sitting at her kitchen table with a stack of printed job applications and a school lunch calendar when she found Loretta's plain business card in the pocket of her purse. She had applied for eight positions in two days, but most of the automated replies thanked her for her interest and promised to keep her information on file. She needed a reference letter, and her old manager would not return her calls. The memory of Loretta thanking her for water was the only reason she dared call the number.
The call connected on the third ring. "Loretta Simmons."
"Hi. Is this Loretta? It's Teresa. Teresa Ortiz, from the front desk at Belmont Road."
Loretta sat straighter in her chair. "Teresa. How are you?"
There was a silence on the line, followed by a quiet breath. "He let me go after you walked out. They said I violated hospitality procedures. I've been sending out applications for two days. I'm not calling to ask for my job back. I just need a reference letter, and I don't have anybody else to ask."