“Problem solved.”
Evan said nothing.
He returned to the envelope.
Turned the certificates over again.
At the bottom left of every certificate sat a small printed code.
BM19-CORP.
Followed by a serialized suffix.
Lot identifiers.
Controlled issue numbers.
The kind of thing most people ignored.
Evan did not.
If a thing carried a serial, somewhere there was a record explaining why the serial existed.
He looked at Preston.
“When did Blackidge buy these?”
Preston turned only halfway.
“That isn’t your concern.”
Evan nodded.
“Okay.”
That surprised Preston.
He seemed to expect a fight.
Evan stacked the certificates neatly.
Placed them back inside the envelope.
Closed the flap.
The room around him had become almost silent.
Curtis was counting his certificates.
Renee stared at hers.
A warehouse employee named Hollis Grant—not related to Grant Worthington—was reading the small print aloud to his wife over the phone.
Evan found his floor supervisor.
“I need two hours personal leave.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
The supervisor looked toward Grant.
Evan noticed.
He did not comment.
Grant waved a hand.
“Go spend your money, Evan.”
A few people heard him.
Evan put on his coat.
Walked outside.
Cold Ohio air hit him hard enough to clear his head.
He sat in his car for ninety seconds.
The envelope remained on the passenger seat.
He could have driven to Becket.
That would have answered one question.
Instead, he drove north.
The old corporate office of Becket Home and Market occupied the third floor of a brick building above a closed furniture outlet on Harmon Avenue.