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He pulls up an invoice. Rose City Mechanical. Ice machine, compressor replacement. Parts and labor. $3,840. February. Then another one, same vendor, same machine, same compressor. May.

"He replaced the compressor twice?"

"He billed for it twice," Tav says.

He sets the binder down and opens it to a photo he took this morning. It's the inside of the ice machine, the panel off, and a metal plate on the compressor with a serial number and a date stamped into it. 2014.

"That's the original," Tav says. "Factory plate. Dust on the mounting bolts nobody's touched in years. Nobody replaced that compressor. Not in February and not in May." He turns the page. "Freight elevator. He billed for a new hoist cable in October. Eleven thousand dollars." He taps another photo, a cable with a little brass tag wired to it. "That's my tag. I put that cable on myself, in 2009."

"Okay," I say slowly. "So he charged us for work he didn't do."

"And parts that never came," William says. "Every part that comes into this building comes through the loading dock, and the dock camera keeps ninety days. Rose City Mechanical billed us for six deliveries between May and July. None of them are on the camera. No truck, no box, nothing signed for."

"Who's Rose City Mechanical?"

"A post office box in Gresham," Lenart says from the door.

He comes in with a folder and puts it on the desk next to the laptop.

"I asked the accountant to pull every payment we've made to them," he says. "Six years. Eighty-one thousand dollars. The payments went to an account Grady controls. The accountant traced it back to him."

I look at the invoice on the screen. Kit rolling her eyes every time the ice machine broke. Grady on his knees in front of it on my first night with a flashlight in his teeth.

"He's been fighting with that ice machine for a year," I say. "Everybody said so. It just kept breaking."

"It kept breaking because nobody fixed it," Tav says.

"There's one more," William says. He brings up a list of door logs. "The fifteenth of June. Grady signed off on the freezer and the vault releases that day. The freezer's past the dish pit, so there's no card reader. But the vault's in the back corridor, and that door logs every keycard." He points. "His card didn't open it once on the fifteenth. Not all day."

"So he never went down there," I say. "He just signed."

"He never went down there with his own card," William says. "That's all I can tell you."

I stand there and look at all of it. The invoices, the photos, the tag with Tav's handwriting on it.

"This is stealing," I say. "I get stealing. Rick used my manager code to comp his friends for six months." I look up at them. "But stealing is quiet. You do it so nobody looks at you. Somebody who's been skimming for six years doesn't go cutting the release on a vault door so the new owner gets locked in, and everybody comes looking."

Nobody answers that.

"I want to talk to him," I say. "Me. Today."

Lenart looks at me for a second. Then he takes out his phone. "He's in the building. I'll ask him to come up."

Grady comes in wiping his hands on a rag, and stops when he sees all of us.

Merek's at the door. Lenart's at the window. Tav is against the bookshelves, taking up most of the wall, and William's beside the desk. I'm in Lenart's chair, because Lenart pulled it out for me and I sat in it.

"What's this," Grady says.

"Sit down, Grady."

He sits. I turn the laptop around so he can see the February invoice.

"Tell me about the ice machine compressor," I say.

He looks at it for a long time.

"Machine's old," he says. "It's always one thing or another."