The hearing officer turned the green carbon book to page fourteen, comparing the entries to the printed bank transfers on Brenda’s screen.

“The carbon copy shows eighty-six hours written in dark pencil,” the officer noted, tapping his gold ring against the wooden desk.

“The official stub submitted for state oversight shows forty-two.”

Arthur shifted his weight in his leather chair, his hands resting flat on his knees.

“A simple clerical oversight by a junior field clerk.”

“Your signature is at the bottom of the duplicate page, Arthur,” Nathaniel said from his end of the table.

“You signed it on a Friday afternoon in my field trailer.”