The following two days passed with frustrating slowness. Evelyn sent requests to the insurer, Meridian Records, and my former employer, while the police continued investigating the anonymous messages. Each institution acknowledged receiving the paperwork, and each warned that retrieving older records would take time.
I tried to return to my normal routine. I attended my rehabilitation appointment, bought groceries, and helped Daniel review his project presentation. Yet every ordinary task seemed to have acquired a second meaning. A receipt was no longer merely proof of a purchase; it was a record that might establish where someone had been. A telephone call could be a routine inquiry or an attempt to influence what I remembered.
On the third morning, Evelyn called before I had finished breakfast.
“The insurer has located a copy of the supplemental report,” she said. “It was stored separately from the main claims file, and the company has agreed to provide it to the police and to our office under the existing request.”
I set down my coffee.
“What does it say?”
“I've reviewed the opening pages. The report confirms that Vale examined records connected to your former employer. It also references the disputed payment in the ledger. But I want you to read the document with me rather than rely on a summary over the phone.”
I arranged to meet her that afternoon.
Daniel drove me to the office, and this time I carried only my notebook and a list of questions. Evelyn had received the report electronically, with the original metadata preserved. She explained that the file was being treated as evidence and that any interpretation would need to account for the possibility that some pages had been omitted or altered before the report was archived.
The first section summarized the accident, including the police report and the delivery driver's account. The next section described Vale's review of my employment records. He had been asked to determine whether any documents found in my possession were relevant to the insurer's assessment of the collision.
The language was broad enough to make the request sound routine, but the report contained no clear explanation for why my work records had been considered necessary.
Evelyn turned to the financial section.
“There it is,” she said.
The report identified the property company as Northbridge Property Services. I remembered the name now. It had maintained several commercial properties and handled administrative payments for a number of local businesses. My department had processed invoices for one of its subsidiaries.
The disputed transaction appeared in a table. It had originally been recorded as a consulting payment, reversed after a review, and then entered again under a different reference number. The replacement entry carried an authorization code associated with Meridian Records.
I looked at the date.
The payment had been re-entered two days before the accident.
“Could that be why I wrote the note about confirming the source?” I asked.
“It could,” Evelyn said. “But the report doesn't establish that you had seen this particular entry before the collision. We need the underlying accounting records to connect your handwritten note to the transaction.”
The next page listed the supporting documents Vale had reviewed. Several entries were marked as copies supplied by an outside records service. Others were described as unavailable.
One item stood out.
Original authorization — client signature disputed.
I read the line again.
“Who disputed the signature?”
“The report doesn't identify the person,” Evelyn said. “It refers to a conversation with an employee at your former firm.”
I leaned closer to the screen. The entry had been followed by a note stating that the discrepancy was considered unresolved and that no further verification had been completed.
“So someone knew the signature was questionable,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And the report was still used in the investigation?”
“The report was submitted, but we don't yet know whether the insurer relied on that section when evaluating the case. We need the decision records and the correspondence surrounding its use.”
I thought about the authorization I had found in my drawer, the one with the reference code MV-17. Someone had apparently been aware of a disputed signature, yet the records had continued moving through the investigation.
“What happened to the original authorization?”
Evelyn opened the document index. The report referred to a signed copy held by Meridian Records, but the archive inventory did not confirm that it was still there.
“That is what we're trying to establish,” she said.
We continued through the report. Several pages described attempts to contact people associated with Northbridge Property Services. One person had declined to speak with Vale, while another had supplied an explanation for the payment that was not supported by an invoice.
The report did not accuse anyone of causing the accident. It did, however, show that the insurer's investigator had examined a financial discrepancy shortly before the collision and that the investigation had continued after my injuries were known.
At the end of the file was a list of attachments. The first was the witness statement describing a person approaching my car before emergency services arrived. The second was a photograph of the wreck. The third was a reference to a blue envelope that had not been included in the electronic archive.
Evelyn stopped scrolling.
“The report confirms that Vale believed the envelope contained a document relevant to the financial inquiry,” she said. “It doesn't establish what happened to it afterward.”
I felt a sharp, almost physical disappointment. We had found the report, but the central object remained missing.
“Can we contact Vale directly?”
“We can try, but I want to coordinate with the police. He may be a witness, a source of evidence, or someone whose conduct requires investigation. We should not approach him without considering those possibilities.”
I agreed.
Before I left, Evelyn showed me the page describing the disputed authorization. The report included a reference number that matched the one on the notebook entry from my former employer.
The entry had been created before the accident.
I had written down the discrepancy because I had been asked to examine records that appeared to have been changed. Someone had later used a document bearing my signature to obtain information connected to the same inquiry.
The timing was no longer a vague suspicion. It was a sequence that could be tested against the original records.
On the drive home, Daniel asked what we had learned.
I explained the report and the missing attachment. He listened, then asked a question that had not occurred to me.
“If the investigator knew the authorization was disputed, why would he keep investigating instead of stopping?”
“Maybe he was trying to establish whether it was valid.”
“Or maybe he wanted to know what the documents contained before anyone else could question how he obtained them.”
I looked at him.
“Both are possibilities.”
He nodded. “I wish we could find someone who was there when the original papers were signed.”
“So do I.”
That evening, Laura came over with a small stack of documents our mother had found in an old drawer. Most were unrelated receipts and letters, but one was a photocopy of a note from Robert Hales's office. It had been addressed to our mother shortly after the accident.
The note thanked her for providing information about my employment and said that the material would be kept confidential while the case was reviewed.
I read it twice.
“Hales knew she had spoken to Vale,” I said.
Laura shook her head. “Not necessarily. The note doesn't mention him.”
Still, it established that our mother had passed information about my employment beyond the conversation we knew about. I asked Laura whether she remembered our mother discussing the letter she had given Vale.
“She said she believed it was harmless,” Laura replied. “She thought it would help explain why you had been under stress before the accident.”
I could understand the impulse. Our mother had wanted to help and had assumed that the investigator's questions were legitimate. But good intentions did not explain why she had withheld the visit or why the records had remained hidden.
I photographed the note and sent it to Evelyn.
The following morning, she arranged a conference call with Helen Mercer, the compliance officer at my former employer. Helen had found an archived transaction log and a scanned authorization that appeared to be associated with the disputed payment.
The log identified the person who approved the release.
My former supervisor, Martin Shaw.
I remembered Martin as a quiet man who rarely raised his voice. He had been responsible for reviewing unusual transactions and approving the release of records to outside parties. He had also been the person who told me not to send the Northbridge documents until the authorization had been verified.
According to the log, he had approved the release anyway.
Helen shared the scanned authorization. The signature beneath the approval line looked like Martin's, but the document had been copied several times, and the ink could not be examined from the image.
“Has anyone spoken to him?” Evelyn asked.
“We contacted him to request an explanation,” Helen replied. “He says he doesn't remember approving the release and denies signing the authorization.”
The room went quiet.
I thought about the person who had called my workplace asking for the original records. I thought about the note I had written, the ledger entry, and the blue envelope that disappeared after the accident.
“Could someone have used his name?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Helen said. “But we need the original approval record and any available audit trail before we can reach a conclusion.”
Evelyn asked her to preserve every version of the authorization and to suspend routine deletion of the related electronic records. Helen agreed.
After the call, I sat staring at the blank screen.
Martin had been the person responsible for ensuring that the records were handled correctly. If he had approved the release, he might have known what was in the package. If he had not, someone had used his authority to make the transaction appear legitimate.
Either way, the records had left the firm.
And the signature that supposedly authorized the release was now being disputed by the very person whose name appeared beneath it.
At noon, Evelyn called with another development. The police had identified the owner of the dark blue sedan from the photograph Daniel took. The registration was associated with a company that had once contracted with Meridian Records.
The vehicle had been sold several months earlier.
The current owner was a woman who lived outside town and said she had never heard of Marcus Vale. She had purchased the car through a used-vehicle dealer and had no knowledge of the earlier investigation.
The discovery was disappointing, but it eliminated one assumption. The sedan might have been connected to the records company in the past, yet there was no evidence that its current owner had followed us.
I thanked Evelyn for the update and told Daniel. He looked frustrated, but he accepted the explanation.
“So we don't know who was driving it.”
“Not yet.”
“And it might not have been the same car Laura saw.”
“Correct.”
He leaned back in his chair. “At least we know one thing. The person who sent the photograph wants us to connect it to Meridian, whether or not the connection is real.”
The observation stayed with me. The sticker had encouraged us to draw a conclusion, but the car's history did not establish who had been inside it or why it had passed Evelyn's office.
Someone could have been guiding our attention toward a real clue.
Someone could also have been using a real clue to send us in the wrong direction.
That evening, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. The man introduced himself as Martin Shaw.
“I understand you're asking questions about the Northbridge transaction,” he said.
“I am.”
“I need to speak to you about the authorization.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“You told Helen you didn't sign it.”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know. But I remember the day the records were released. A man came to the office with a package and said the authorization had already been approved by the insurer. I refused to release the original documents because the paperwork was incomplete.”
“What happened next?”
“He returned later with a second authorization. It carried your signature.”
I gripped the phone.
“Did you recognize it?”
“I thought it looked like yours, but I wasn't certain. I asked whether you had signed it in person. He said the signature had been verified.”
“Who was the man?”
“I didn't know his name. He showed identification from a records service.”
“Meridian?”
“I can't say. It happened years ago.”
I asked why he had approved the release if he had doubts.
“I didn't approve the release,” he replied. “Someone entered the approval under my account after I refused.”
The room seemed to fall away around me.
“Do you have proof?”
“I found the audit discrepancy when Helen contacted me. The system shows my account was used after I had logged out. I've been trying to retrieve the original access log.”
“Why didn't you report it at the time?”
“I thought it was a system error. I didn't know the documents were connected to an accident until recently.”
He asked whether Evelyn could contact him through the proper channels. I told him she would, then ended the call.
I immediately sent Evelyn a written account of what Martin had said. She replied that she would contact him directly and ask him to preserve the access logs.
For the first time, someone involved in the records process had offered a specific explanation that could be verified. If Martin was telling the truth, someone had used his credentials to authorize a release he had refused.
But that raised another question.
Who had access to his account, and why had they wanted those particular documents?
I went upstairs and opened the drawer containing my old work notebooks. I searched for Martin's name and found a note from the week before the accident.
Martin says second authorization came from outside office. Ask who delivered it.
The sentence was underlined.
I stared at it, then checked the date.
I had written it the day before the collision.
I had known that a second authorization had arrived. I had questioned where it came from. And I had intended to ask Martin for an explanation.
Whatever happened on the road the next day, I had been following the trail before the crash ever occurred.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: My Former Supervisor Revealed Who Had Brought the Second Authorization, but the Name He Gave Us Was Someone I Had Trusted With My Recovery
I Bought My Son a Laptop With Money Nobody Knew I Had Received, and By Morning My Family Had Begun Asking Questions I Couldn’t Answer
Part 10 of 35
