How Four Hundred Dollars on a Lancaster Diner Table Changed One Christmas Eve
The shop smelled of dry pine sawdust, machine oil, and the sharp bite of winter drafts slipping under the loading bay doors.
Brenda stood beside the drafting table with her clipboard, checking the holiday accounts line by line against the main ledger.
“Arthur Vance dropped off his sub-tier expenses at the shop an hour ago,” Brenda said.
She tapped her glasses on the aluminum frame of her clipboard, a steady metal sound that filled the quiet room.
“Did he clear the Project Four deductions?” Nathaniel asked.
“Most of them,” she said.
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