“Then the documentation protects everyone.” She waited until he stopped scribbling. “What happens here now when a customer disputes an invoice?”
Ethan glanced toward the piles of paper. “I usually try to remember the conversation.”
“That's not a system.”
“No,” he admitted. “I'm starting to see that.”
After twenty minutes, Claire asked whether she could look at the outstanding paperwork. He gestured at the desk with a resignation bordering on embarrassment. She turned the nearest stack toward herself and began separating it into categories: unpaid vendor invoices, unbilled completed jobs, warranty claims, estimates, and items that seemed to have no useful purpose at all. Her movements were quick without looking hurried. Ethan watched a January invoice emerge from beneath a parts catalog, followed by two statements he had been avoiding because he couldn't remember whether he'd paid them.
“This warranty claim is dated February,” she said. “Why isn't it filed?”
“I thought it was.”
“The form isn't complete.” She tapped a blank field with her finger. “The labor authorization number is missing, and the submission window isn't open forever.”
He stared at it, recognizing the job. “Can it still go through?”
“Probably, if the manufacturer hasn't closed the window. I'd check today.” She placed it on top of a new pile. “Here's a customer invoice for work you completed six weeks ago. I can't find a notation showing it was sent.”
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “That's possible.”
“It either was or it wasn't.”
“You've been here half an hour and already found things I didn't know were lost.”
Claire looked around the office without smiling. “There are probably more.”
The break-room door opened, and a nine-year-old boy appeared holding a math worksheet. He had dark hair flattened on one side and the watchful eyes of someone who had learned early how to judge a grown-up's mood. “Dad, I don't get number seven,” he said, stopping when he saw Claire. His attention shifted to the suitcase and back to her face.
“Mason, buddy, I'm interviewing someone,” Ethan told him. “Can you give me ten minutes?”
“I already gave the problem twenty.” Mason held up the worksheet as proof. His voice carried that mixture of impatience and embarrassment children use when they're afraid a simple problem should be easy for everybody else.
“Let me see,” Claire said.
Ethan hesitated. “You don't have to—”
“I know.” She took the sheet only after Mason stepped toward her and offered it. “Show me how you got this far.”
Mason pointed to a column of long division. Claire studied the numbers, then turned the page slightly so they could both see. “You were doing it correctly up to this line. Right here, you forgot to bring the remainder down. Everything afterward got harder because that one little piece was missing.”
Mason bent over the worksheet. He frowned at the column, retraced one number with his pencil, and whispered, “Oh.”
“Try it yourself,” she said. “I want to see whether the next step makes sense.”