She had once documented problems far more serious than supplier cancellations.
Then the bank letter arrived.
NOTICE OF DEFAULT.
Coulter carried it into the office.
“I made this payment.”
Adeline took the paper.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Check?”
“Automatic transfer.”
She opened the bank records.
The payment had left the shop’s operating account.
But the loan ledger showed missed.
Eleanor Pierce was out of town.
A regional processing office had generated the notice automatically.
Adeline called.
Waited.
Transferred.
Waited again.
Eventually someone told her supporting documentation would need to be provided.
Coulter sat in the chair with both hands over his face.
“They’re going to take the shop.”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know we have evidence.”
That night she stayed.
The temperature fell sharply.
Coulter locked the bays around nine.
“You coming?”
“Later.”
“Don’t stay all night.”
“I won’t.”
She did.
By ten-thirty she had moved six boxes of records onto the office floor.
At eleven, the space heater began rattling.
At midnight, she found the first error.
A customer payment had been entered twice, once under the correct name and once under another account.
Not theft.
Bad bookkeeping.
She kept going.
More errors.
Deposits posted late.
Invoices never mailed.
Supplier credits never applied.
Money owed to Briggs Auto Repair stretching back almost two years.
At twelve-thirty the office became painfully cold.
Adeline pulled Coulter’s spare coat from a hook.
It smelled of cedar, cold air, and engine oil.
She wrapped it around herself without thinking.
At one-fifteen she found an old tax document.
A refund.
Never claimed.
The supporting paperwork had been prepared three years earlier but never submitted.
She stared at it.
Then laughed because otherwise she might have screamed.
“How do you forget money?”
The empty office did not answer.
At two, she discovered that several customer accounts had small balances nobody ever pursued.
At three, the floor was covered with color-coded piles.
At four, she reconciled the loan payment.
The money had indeed left the account.
The processing error was on the bank side.
At five, she assembled the packet.
Payment confirmation.
Account history.
Receivables.
Corrected financial statement.
Recoverable tax refund documentation.
Supplier credits.
Projected cash flow.
At six-thirty, Coulter opened the office door.
He stopped.
Adeline sat on the floor surrounded by paper.
His coat covered her shoulders.
Coffee had gone cold beside her.
“What happened?”
“I found your money.”
He looked at the papers.
“My what?”
“A lot of money people owe you.”
Coulter stepped carefully into the room.
“And your loan payment.”
“I told you I paid it.”
“You did.”
“So the bank—”
“Processing error.”
He closed his eyes.
Relief moved through him so visibly that Adeline looked away to give it privacy.
She handed him another sheet.
“This is the tax refund.”
“What refund?”