Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“He is not looking at the screen,” Carter said.
“He does not need to,” Linda said. “He has the sequence memorized. The timestamp at the bottom of the video read twelve-fourteen.”
Carter watched the digital version of Troy press the final green key on the register screen, then slide a handful of twenty-dollar bills into his front pocket.
“That was employee code zero-four,” Carter said, his voice flat. “That is Henry’s login.”
“He used it seven times during that shift alone,” Linda said, tapping her keyboard to jump the video forward twenty minutes.
“How did he get the number?” Carter asked.
“Henry keeps his laminated login card in his shirt pocket,” Linda said. “He wrote the PIN on the back in black marker because he can never remember it.”
Carter adjusted his gold wedding band, sliding it up to his knuckle and back down again.
“He does not even realize it is missing when he is back there scrubbing pots,” Carter said.
“He doesn’t,” Linda said. “And because Troy is the shift lead, he has the authority to approve the voids without a manager present. She opened a second window on the screen, displaying a spreadsheet of the weekly transactions.”
