He nodded. “I believe we have amassed enough evidence here to make that assumption.”
Silas reached over and removed the papers from Verity’s hands, spreading them out in front of himself. Within moments, he raised his head and nodded. “She’s right, Lucas. There are too many similarities to dismiss this as some sort of hiccup in the PCIB.”
“Alastair?” Lucas watched as the older man took his turn with the numbers.
Once again, the room fell silent, but this time it was different. Edgier. As well it should be, in his opinion.
“I’m...” Alastair shook his head. “God above. I can’t believe this is happening.” He placed one paper on the table. “I’ve reviewed old records, archival ledgers. I’ve even run a few tests on some of the decades-old stress events.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “The time the machines failed. And that terrible time when we hovered on the edge of war with Fourdain. And I discovered something.”
He paused. The silence was profound.
“It’s happened once before.”
If dropped jaws could make a noise, the room would be deafening.
Before the other three could gather their wits and start asking questions, Alastair held up his hand. “Yes, the exact same kind of things happened, but briefly. Quietly. So quietly that they were dismissed as ‘market noise’. A nice catchall for oddities that cropped up now and again.”
He glanced at Lucas. “This was before the PBIC, lad. Well before. And there are a few differences.”
“Such as?” Lucas spoke quietly, but it was clear he was shocked by this revelation.
“It looks like the same...pattern. I think that’s the best way to describe it. Quiet, unimportant small errors, quickly corrected. But this time? The pattern is more precise. More focussed. And, to my mind, better hidden.”
“How long ago?” Verity’s voice betrayed her shock. “And what happened?”
“It stopped,” answered Alastair tiredly. “It stopped when whoever was causing it vanished—abruptly, and without explanation.”
“So someone is out there, manipulating numbers, and potentially messing up our accounts? My charity accounts?”
“That would in some degree explain what happened to the Forge numbers.” Silas spoke quietly.
“And since the numbers are so small, they are practically unnoticeable.” Lucas squared his shoulders. “It’s a complex pattern, Alastair. Very complex.”
“It depends on so many factors, Lucas,” replied Alastair. “And primarily it depends on when we handle numbers.”
“I don’t understand that, Alastair. Can you break it down for me?” Verity asked.
“Of course.” He folded his hands on the table. “In spite of all that we’ve found, nothing is ever flagged as ‘missing’. And this is simply because to reconcile balances, banking systems— including the PBIC, Lucas, a moment of time exists, fractionally, between things like logging deposits, reconciling balances, passing audits, and so on. An instant, a fraction of a moment, where money exists as potential, not actual capital.”
“All right, I can understand that.” Verity nodded.
“Let’s use your experience as an example. A charity deposit of fifty pounds. You get a receipt, the ledgers are updated, and the account shows pending. A status which should last for the blink of an eye.” He took a breath. “But suppose we take a close look at that blink. During that blink, a tiny percentage is skimmed.”
He held up a hand, anticipating their outbursts. “Wait. I’m not finished. All this happens so quickly, that by the time the deposit reaches its destination, the system has made rounding adjustments, interest calculations, and configured timing offsets happening elsewhere. The result? No account is short, no one sees that miniscule loss, and the books still balance.”
“How can that be?” Silas frowned.
“No system anywhere, including the PBIC, is infallible. But there are protocols in place to adjust for the inevitable errors. Lost coins, misdated deposits, all the idiot things we do when using the bank.”
“Things have to balance,” said Verity.
“They do,” Lucas answered. “But here, the math balances too well.”
Chapter Fourteen
Verity sighed as the little party broke up, knowing the few hours had been both productive and challenging.
Silas, deeply concerned, was on his way down to the Forge, declaring that he was going to tighten up whatever he could the moment he hit the floor.
