“If they think I committed fraud—”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then we cooperate.”
Coulter paced.
“You haven’t seen how bad the old records are.”
“I have.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Adeline called Gavin Ross.
Gavin was a fifty-seven-year-old attorney whose office sat above the hardware store. He had handled Coulter’s lease dispute years earlier and knew enough about small businesses to be dangerous and enough about tax procedure to know when to bring in an accountant.
He arrived wearing work clothes because Adeline caught him replacing fence wire at his property.
“What happened?”
Coulter handed him the letter.
Gavin read.
“Okay.”
“That’s your reaction?”
“Yes.”
“They’re accusing me of tax fraud.”
“No.”
“Someone accused you.”
“The state is asking questions.”
“That distinction matters.”
Adeline liked him immediately.
Gavin turned to her.
“You keep the records?”
“Now.”
“How far back?”
“I’ve reconstructed five years.”
“Good.”
“Original source documents?”
“Most.”
“Bank statements?”
“Yes.”
“Cash receipts?”
“Partial before I arrived.”
“Then don’t manufacture anything.”
Adeline’s expression sharpened.
“I wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t say you would.”
“I’m telling Coulter.”
Coulter frowned.
“Why me?”
“Because owners panic.”
The state examiner arrived the following week.
Marsha Keene.
Late fifties.
No patience for theatrics.
She requested five years of bank statements, sales summaries, federal returns, state filings, vendor records, payroll, and selected customer invoices.
Adeline provided them.
For three days, Marsha worked at the corner desk.
Coulter hated every minute.
Adeline almost enjoyed it.
Not the accusation.
The order.
Numbers had rules.
People did not.
On day two, Marsha asked about a series of deposits missing from the anonymous whistleblower’s calculations.
Adeline found the error quickly.
The complaint treated gross customer payments as revenue while ignoring refunds, warranty reimbursements, and pass-through parts charges.
Amateur mistake.
Then another oddity appeared.
The complaint contained bank-routing details that were not public.
Gavin noticed.
“So whoever filed this had access to something private.”
Marsha did not answer.
She did not have to.
On the third afternoon, Marsha closed her laptop.
“I don’t see evidence supporting the allegation.”
Coulter nearly collapsed with relief.
“But.”
He stiffened.
Marsha continued.
“There is something unusual about the supporting material submitted with the complaint.”
Adeline leaned forward.
“What?”
“A copy of a bank reconciliation worksheet.”
“That isn’t ours.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
“Why?”
Adeline opened the shop’s records.
“Our format is different.”
“Fonts.”
“Headers.”
“Account naming.”
“The complaint sheet was built to resemble ours but not by someone using our files.”
Gavin asked:
“Can we get a copy?”
“Not yet.”
“Investigation confidentiality.”
“But I am referring the matter internally because the submission may contain falsified supporting documents.”
Coulter looked toward Adeline.
Donovan.
Neither said the name.
Not until later.
Adeline traced the clue through public information, not confidential tax records.
One routing number visible on a vendor-payment copy eventually connected to an account used by Mountain Fleet Services LLC.
Mountain Fleet Services was owned by a holding company.
That holding company shared an address with Donovan Motor & Service’s administrative office.
Not proof.
Enough to give Gavin a direction.
He hired a private forensic accountant rather than letting Adeline investigate beyond legal boundaries.
Then Gavin sent a preservation letter to Donovan’s corporate counsel.
Donovan called Coulter the same afternoon.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Coulter put the call on speaker with Gavin present.
“Working.”
“You’re accusing my companies of filing false tax complaints.”
“No.”