Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“It keeps people from asking the wrong questions,” Carter said, pulling out a heavy wooden chair that scraped against the linoleum. “Did you bring the connection card?”
Linda reached into her leather bag and pulled out a small black hotspot, setting it next to her silver laptop. She opened the screen, the pale blue light reflecting off her glasses as her fingers tapped the keys. Carter sat back, his eyes tracking a librarian carting a stack of biographies down the aisle.
“I pulled the daily transmission logs from the Decatur server,” Linda said, turning the screen slightly so Carter could see the rows of gray data. “It took some digging because the local terminal doesn’t show the backend voids.”
“How bad is the gap?” Carter asked.
Linda clicked a folder labeled Springfield West. “The diner is down over four thousand dollars for the quarter, but the physical food inventory is nearly perfect. We aren’t throwing away meat or letting milk spoil.”
“Which means the money is leaving through the front door,” Carter said.
“It means someone is clearing transactions after the food is already on the table,” Linda said, her finger tracing a line on the screen. “Look at the time stamps.”
