The Site Visit

Toledo was a two-hour drive west, a straight shot down the turnpike through flat fields that were just starting to show the stubborn grey-green of late winter. Elena drove her Audi on autopilot, the silence of the cabin broken only by the hum of tires on asphalt.

Mark’s text message burned in her mind. *Heater in the truck is busted.*

If he wasn't in Toledo, who was?

Someone had to be managing the site. The structural failure at the library expansion was real; she had signed the change order for the emergency shoring herself. If Mark wasn't there, the liability was catastrophic.

She pulled into the construction site just after noon. The perimeter fence was draped in green mesh, the Vance Construction sign zip-tied to the chain link. MUD. SWEAT. EXCELLENCE. Mark's slogan.

She parked next to the job trailer. Mark’s truck wasn't there.

Elena stepped out into the biting wind. She wrapped her wool coat tighter, her heels sinking slightly into the gravel. The site was active—the rhythmic *thump-thump* of a pile driver, the whine of a circular saw.

She spotted the foreman, Jim, standing near the excavation pit. He was a good man, a twenty-year veteran who had worked for her father. He was holding a tablet, pointing at a rebar cage.

"Jim!" Elena called out, waving.

Jim turned. His face registered surprise, then a flicker of something else. Unease. He walked over, wiping his hands on his vest.

"Elena. Didn't know you were coming up." He glanced at the empty spot where Mark's truck should have been. "Is everything okay with the payroll?"

"Payroll is fine," Elena said, forcing a smile. "Just wanted to see the bracing myself. Mark said it was... complicated."

Jim frowned. He pulled his hard hat off and ran a hand through thinning hair. "Complicated? It's standard shoring, Elena. We've done it a hundred times."

"Mark made it sound like a crisis yesterday," she pressed. "When he was here."

Jim stopped wiping his hands. He looked at her, really looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Mark wasn't here yesterday, Elena."

The wind cut through her coat. "He wasn't?"

"Haven't seen him since the kickoff meeting three weeks ago," Jim said. "He sends the inspection reports by email. Said he's been swamped with the downtown reno."

Three weeks.

Elena felt the ground tilt. It wasn't just yesterday. It wasn't just a weekend getaway. He hadn't been to his primary job site in nearly a month.

"Right," Elena said, her voice sounding thin and far away. "Of course. He mentioned he was working remotely on the specs. I must have misunderstood."

"You sure you're okay?" Jim asked. "You look a little pale."

"Fine. Just... taxes." She backed away toward her car. "Keep up the good work, Jim."

She got into the Audi and locked the doors. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't get the key into the ignition. She dropped her head against the steering wheel, breathing in the smell of leather and her own fear.

Three weeks of phantom site visits. Three weeks of billable hours charged to the client for project management that never happened. That was fraud. If the city found out, they would pull the permits. They would audit the entire company.

She grabbed her phone. She needed to see the money.

She logged into the corporate credit card portal. She filtered for Mark’s card.

The list populated.

*Feb 16 - Shell Station, Miami FL - $45.00*
*Feb 16 - SunPass Toll - $12.00*
*Feb 15 - U-Store-It, Coral Gables - $215.00*

He hadn't flown commercial. He had driven to Miami.

And then, a charge from yesterday. A large one.

*Feb 16 - Paradise Imports LLC - $9,850.00*

It was just under the ten-thousand-dollar reporting limit. The limit that flagged transactions for money laundering.

Elena stared at the merchant name. *Paradise Imports.* It sounded like a shell company. It sounded like a joke.

She tapped the transaction for details. The merchant category code wasn't travel or materials. It was *Consulting Services.*

She checked the credit card statement on her phone. A charge for 'Paradise Imports' cleared yesterday.