Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
The metal latch gave way, and the drawer shot open with a heavy ring.
The till was empty of cash, containing only a few paper clips and a dry sponge in the penny slot.
“Now,” Carter said, pointing down at the floorboards behind the register. “Look at the third pine board from the counter leg.”
Troy did not move.
“The loose one,” Carter said.
Linda knelt on the rubber floor mat, her fingers finding the edge of the dark wood.
She pried the board up, the old wood creaking as it lifted three inches from the subfloor.
Underneath, tucked into the dry, dusty space between the joists, was a neat bundle of white paper slips.
Linda reached in and pulled them out, laying them on the laminate counter.
They were twenty physical register receipts, each one marked with a red void stamp.
“These are the customer copies,” Henderson said, taking them and spreading them like playing cards. “Every single one of these matches a voided transaction in the computer.”
Megan looked at the door, her fingers twitching against her thigh.
