In the middle of a sub-zero Wyoming blizzard, I found the Canadian River timber bridge collapsed into the freezing rapids.
I logged into the shuttle company’s online portal, the cursor hovering over the operating ledger. The screen glowed cold blue in the dim office, reflecting the snow falling outside. A knot tightened in my stomach.
The numbers didn’t look right.
Our reserve accounts, which should have held a healthy buffer for winter operations, showed a deficit. Not a small fluctuation, but a gaping hole: $42,000 gone. My breath hitched.
I closed the browser, then reopened it, thinking it was a glitch. The number remained stubbornly unchanged.
Clara, my dispatcher, was humming a cheerful holiday tune from her desk, oblivious, her fingers flying across her keyboard, scheduling routes for the morning rush. The smell of her cinnamon coffee filled the small room.
I walked over, my footsteps too loud on the worn linoleum. She looked up, her smile bright.
“Morning, Ellen! Looks like we’re finally getting those plows moving on the 80. Should clear up by lunch.”
“Clara, do you have a minute?” My voice felt stiff, like a hinge rusted shut.
She nodded, pushing her headset to one ear. “Of course. Everything okay with the Elk Mountain run?”
“It’s not about the routes,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s about the accounts. Have you seen anything unusual in the past few weeks? Any large transfers, anything out of the ordinary?”
Clara frowned, her brow furrowing. “Unusual? No, not really. Just the usual payroll and fuel. Why? Is something wrong?”
I hesitated, watching her open, honest face. Clara had been with me since I started this company six years ago, building it from a single battered van. She trusted me completely, and I trusted her. This had to be Mark.
“Did anyone else have access to the master administrative portal recently?” I asked, trying to phrase it carefully.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh! Well, Mark asked for it, actually. About three weeks ago, maybe a bit longer. He said he needed to access the full operating ledger to reconcile the quarterly business taxes for his accountant.”
My hands clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. Three weeks. That was exactly when the withdrawals started, small at first, then larger chunks. Mark had been systematically draining my business.
Clara, sensing my change in demeanor, stopped humming. Her cheerful expression crumbled. “He said it was urgent. For the taxes. I just gave him the temporary login. Was that… was that not okay?”
“It’s not your fault, Clara,” I said, my voice tight. “He manipulated you. He used your trust.”
She looked genuinely distressed, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I just wanted to help him get his paperwork done. He seemed so stressed about it.”
That was Mark, all right. Charming, persuasive, always finding a way to get what he wanted without doing the dirty work himself. He’d known Clara would never question him, especially if it was framed as “helping Ellen.”
I walked back to my desk, my mind racing. “$42,000,” I muttered under my breath, “gone.” It was enough to cripple us if we hit a rough patch of weather, enough to delay maintenance, enough to put us in the red.
“What do we do?” Clara asked, her voice small.
“We fix it,” I said, my jaw tightening. I opened the portal again, navigating quickly to the user permissions. My fingers flew across the keyboard, revoking every single administrative access point that wasn’t mine. I changed the master passwords, locking him out completely.
Clara watched me, her hands clasped. She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, Ellen.”
I looked at her, forcing a thin smile. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
But inside, my stomach churned with a cold, desperate fear. This wasn’t just about money. This was Mark actively trying to sabotage the one thing I had built entirely for myself, the one thing that was unequivocally mine. I had to keep my panic hidden from Clara, from everyone. My business, and my life, depended on it.
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