Chloe’s recording was a live wire. It was proof, undeniable and damning. We knew Arthur Pendelton was corrupt, but Finch’s panicked confession brought it into sharp relief.
Chloe, with a fierce look of determination, packaged the anonymous tip. It contained a copy of the recording, along with the details of Finch’s suspiciously low appraisal. She mailed it to the state land tax audit office.
Three days later, a state tax auditor arrived in Oakhaven, unannounced. The news spread like wildfire. A grim-faced man, Mr. Davies, set up shop in a back room at the town hall.
Wayne Finch was summoned first. I saw him walk past our house, his face pale, his usually slicked-back hair askew. He wrung his hands, his eyes darting.
I walked by the town hall later, pretending to adjust a loose shutter. I heard muffled voices.
Then, a sudden, panicked shout from Finch.
“No, no, that valuation was low because… because Arthur’s $50,000 cash payment required it! For the pre-sale agreement, sir!”
A sharp silence followed. I heard the click of a button, then the auditor’s calm, authoritative voice.
“Did you just say Arthur Pendelton paid you $50,000 to undervalue a property for a pre-sale agreement, Mr. Finch?”
Another click. “This conversation is now being officially recorded. Please provide a sworn statement, under penalty of perjury.”
Finch’s stammering continued, but it was useless. The truth, in his terror, had slipped out. The state auditor had him dead to rights. Arthur’s web of lies was beginning to unravel, caught on a recorded line.
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