Arthur Garrick, his usual timid demeanor replaced by a simmering anger, worked tirelessly. For the next several hours, nestled in a quiet corner of the maintenance office away from the tournament preparations, he meticulously cross-referenced his personal audit logs with the “official” documents Julian had submitted. His brow furrowed deeper with each discrepancy.
“This is outrageous,” Arthur muttered, pointing to a ledger entry. “He reported ten fewer groundskeepers on staff than my count, for months. That’s ten paychecks he was pocketing or rerouting.”
He tapped another page. “And these materials invoices? Triple the actual cost. My estimates were always half this.”
The paper trail was damning. Julian wasn’t just underpaying; he was siphoning funds, manipulating headcounts, and inflating expenses. It was a web of financial deceit, all rubber-stamped by Arthur’s unwitting signature.
“He’s been embezzling, Minh,” Arthur said, his voice tight. “Not just wage theft. Outright fraud against the estate itself. The Montgomery Trust has been robbed blind.”
As we worked, the distant sounds of the tournament preparations—the thud of arrows hitting targets, the distant announcer’s voice—began to filter through the thin walls. The regional championship was almost upon us.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Julian stood there, his face a mask of barely contained fury. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, now blazed with a desperate anger.
“Arthur! Minh!” he exclaimed, his voice sharper than I’d ever heard it. “What in God’s name are you two doing in here?”
Arthur flinched, instinctively trying to cover the stack of damning documents. But it was too late. Julian’s gaze swept over the cluttered table, over the open ledgers and printouts. His eyes landed on the expired lease agreement Victoria had confirmed.
A cold, hard realization dawned on his face. He knew.
“You!” Julian spat, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You told him, didn’t you? You’re trying to sabotage me.”
His gaze locked onto the lease. “That old relic! It means nothing. A mere technicality!”
“Three years, Julian,” Arthur said, his voice surprisingly firm. “Three years of operating without a valid charter. Three years of misrepresenting financials. Of forging my signature!”
Julian ignored him, his focus solely on me. He took a step forward, his expensive suit jacket bunched at the shoulders.
“Minh, listen to me,” he said, his voice suddenly shifting, laced with a false calm. “We can fix this. This is just a misunderstanding.”
He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
“Sign this,” he commanded, placing the document on the table between us. It was an affidavit. My name was already printed at the top.
“What is it?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“It’s a statement,” he said, pushing it closer. “A simple declaration. It states that you, as the groundskeeping supervisor, take full responsibility for any ‘clerical errors’ in the past three years’ financial records. Minor discrepancies, easily rectified. It clears Arthur, clears the board. It protects everyone.”
My eyes scanned the first few lines. “I, Minh Pham, willingly acknowledge and accept full responsibility for any and all discrepancies…”
He wanted me to take the fall. To become the scapegoat for his entire empire of fraud. Not only for the wage theft and inflated invoices, but for the $6 million in back rent and the illegal operation of the entire estate. If I signed this, I wouldn’t just be blamed; I would be legally implicated. My visa, my future, everything would be over.
“This is preposterous,” Arthur blurted, shaking his head. “Minh had no access to the master accounts!”
“Arthur, stay out of this!” Julian roared, his face reddening. “This is a family matter!”
He turned back to me, his gaze intense. “Think about your fellow workers, Minh. Your friends. If this gets out, Greenbriar collapses. They lose their jobs, their homes. Everything.”
He was using their well-being as a weapon, twisting my compassion into a noose.
“Sign it, Minh,” he urged, his voice dropping to a persuasive tone. “It’s the only way to protect them. To keep things quiet, for everyone’s sake.”
I looked from the deceitful document in front of me to Julian’s desperate, calculating eyes. Then I looked at Arthur Garrick, the man whose trust had been so casually betrayed. I thought of the tired faces of the groundskeepers, the ones who relied on every cent they earned, the ones I had promised to protect.
This wasn’t just about my visa anymore. This was about justice. This was about standing up for the exploited.
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