Chapter 5 - The Corporate Fall
By Monday morning at nine o’clock, the machinery of consequence had shifted into high gear. While Melissa was holed up at Joanna’s house with an emergency divorce attorney Frank had retained on her behalf, I put on my best Sunday suit, polished my boots, and drove my Ford F-150 into the business district of Columbus.
The regional headquarters of Sterling Mutual Insurance occupied the top three floors of a gleaming glass tower. Conrad had bragged at Thanksgiving that Derek was on the short list for Senior Vice President of Commercial Accounts. It was the centerpiece of his endless boasting.
I took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. When the brass doors parted, I was greeted by marble floors, abstract art, and a reception desk that looked like it belonged in a museum. The receptionist looked up with a polished, corporate smile.
“Good morning, sir. Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I said, resting my weight slightly on my good side to ease the strain on my bruised hip. “My name is Harold Miller. I’m here to see Arthur Pendelton. Tell him I’m the primary guarantor on the commercial fleet liability accounts for Miller Enterprises, and I have documentation regarding internal account integrity.”
Pendelton was the regional managing partner. He had been a client of mine twenty years ago when he was just an ambitious field adjuster driving an old station wagon with a cracked cylinder head. I had rebuilt his engine on credit when he was flat broke, and he had never forgotten it.
Five minutes later, I was ushered into a corner office overlooking the city skyline. Arthur Pendelton rose from behind a vast mahogany desk, his silver hair neatly combed, extending a firm hand.
“Harold! Good lord, man, it’s been five years. What brings you down from Denton? Your message sounded serious.”
I took a seat in the leather armchair across from him and set a manila folder on the glass blotter.
“Arthur, I’m not here to ask for favors. I’m here to give you a warning before your firm ends up on the front page of the regional business journal.”
Pendelton’s demeanor instantly tightened. He sat down, opened the folder, and began scanning the documents. Inside were forensic printouts of Derek Holloway’s corporate expense logs cross-referenced with the fraudulent charges from my personal credit card and the travel itineraries he had submitted for company-sponsored conferences.
“Derek has been using my personal funds to cover the personal excesses of his client trips,” I explained calmly. “Specifically, reserving luxury accommodations under false corporate project codes while entertaining a junior staffer in your regional intake department, Amber Linley. When my card was declined on Thanksgiving, Derek attempted to reroute those charges onto your agency’s client development account.”
Pendelton flipped to the third page. His eyes narrowed into slits. “He routed a three-thousand-dollar weekend stay at The Veranda through the Buckeye Logistics commercial renewal budget?”
“Check the confirmation timestamps, Arthur,” I said quietly. “He submitted the expense override from his phone at six-fifteen on Thanksgiving evening. Right from my daughter’s dining room table.”
Pendelton picked up his desk phone, pressed a single button, and spoke with razor-sharp authority. “Brenda, call corporate security, get HR on the line, and tell Derek Holloway to report to my office immediately. Do not allow him to access his desktop terminal or remove any personal belongings from his desk.”
Three minutes later, the door to Pendelton’s office opened. Derek walked in carrying a leather portfolio, wearing a tailored navy suit and his characteristic confident smirk.
“Arthur, you wanted to see me about the Buckeye renewal—?”
Derek stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes fell on me sitting calmly in the armchair. The portfolio in his hand slipped slightly, his fingers clutching the leather so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Harold? What the hell are you doing here?” Derek hissed, his face tightening in sudden dread.
“Sit down, Holloway,” Pendelton said, his voice ice-cold. He didn’t use Derek’s first name.
Derek remained standing, his eyes darting between Pendelton’s stony expression and the manila folder open on the desk. “Arthur, if this is about family business, Harold has a personal grudge against me. He’s an unstable old man who had an incident at Thanksgiving and—”
“Shut up,” Pendelton interrupted, slamming his palm flat against the desk with a crack that echoed off the plate-glass windows. “Corporate compliance just finished an initial audit of your expense accounts for the last two quarters. You’ve been falsifying client entertainment vouchers, embezzling through third-party concierge portals, and carrying on an unauthorized relationship with a subordinate employee using company-funded travel.”
Derek’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His polished veneer shattered into raw, naked panic.
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“Arthur, please, let me explain,” Derek begged, taking a frantic step forward. “It was a misunderstanding with the booking system! I was going to reimburse the accounts on Monday!”
“You’re done, Derek,” Pendelton said, rising to his feet. “Your access is revoked. Security is waiting outside to escort you from the premises. If our full forensic audit uncovers a single dollar of outright criminal fraud, I will personally file the criminal referral with the state attorney general’s office. Get out of my sight.”
