She skimmed her gaze over each of them, wanting to remember this moment. Fusty Calvin Meyers with his usual suspenders and red bow tie. Elegant and terrifying Amanda Devin, looking stern and beautiful. Marty, of course, sweet and homely and rumpled. Lawrence Junior, steady, balding, and cool.
And of course, the senior Bittle. She had always thought he looked like Spencer Tracy—that lived-in face, the sweep of white hair, the stocky, powerful little body.
Her pulse bumped, aware that all eyes were on her.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Sit down, Kate." From his seat at the head of the table, Bittle gestured to one at the foot.
"Yes, sir."
He cleared his throat as she took her chair, settled. "We thought it best to
meet at the end of the workday. You're aware, I'm sure, that we've been involved for the past several days in a check of our accounts."
"Yes, sir." She smiled. "Speculation's been racing down the corridors." When he didn't smile back, she felt a nervous tickle at the back of her throat. "It's hard not to get on the rumor train, sir."
"Yes." He let out a breath, folded his hands. "A discrepancy in an income tax payment came to Mr. Bittle Junior's attention last week."
"A discrepancy?" Her gaze shifted to Lawrence.
"In the Sunstream account," he clarified.
"That's one of mine." The nervous tickle at the back of her throat changed to a nervous dread in her stomach. Had she made some sort of stupid error in the chaos of the tax crunch? "What kind of discrepancy?"
"The client's copy of the tax form indicates a federal payment due of seven thousand six hundred and forty-eight dollars." Lawrence opened a file, took out a thick stack of papers. "Is this your work, Ms. Powell?"
He was the only Bittle who called her Ms. Powell. Everyone in the firm was accustomed to his formality. But it was the clipped manner of his speech that put her on alert. Carefully she took out her glasses and slipped them on as the papers were passed down to her.
"Yes," she said after a quick glance. "It's my account, I did the tax work. This is my signature."
"And as with several of our clients, the firm cuts the checks for tax payments for this one."
"Some prefer it." She dropped her hands into her lap. "It distances them, a bit, from the sting. And it's more convenient."
"Convenient," Amanda commented and drew Kate's eye. "For whom?"
This was trouble, was all Kate could think. But from what and where? "Many clients prefer to come into the office, discuss the tax situation and the results—argue and vent." They all knew this, she thought, scanning the table again. Why did she have to explain? "The client will sign the necessary forms and the account exec will issue the check out of escrow."
"Ms. Powell." Lawrence took another stack of papers from his file. "Can you explain this?"
As smoothly as possible, Kate wiped her damp palms on her skirt, then studied the forms passed to her. Her mind went momentarily blank. She blinked, focused, swallowed hard.
"I'm not sure I understand. This is another copy of the 1040 filed for Sunstream, but the tax due amount is different."
"Twenty-two hundred dollars less," Amanda pointed out. "This is the form and the payment made on April fifteenth of this year to the IRS. The check drawn out of escrow was for this amount."
"I don't understand when or how the other copy was generated," Kate began. "All work sheets are filed, of course, but any excess forms are shredded."
"Kate." Bittle drew her attention with one quiet word. "The excess money was transferred via computer out of the client's escrow account in cash."
"In cash," she repeated, blank.
"Since this came to our attention, we initiated a check on all accounts." Bittle's face was grave as he watched her. "Since late March of this year, amounts that total seventy-five thousand dollars have been withdrawn from escrow accounts, seventy-five thousand in excess of tax payments. Computer withdrawals, in cash, from your accounts."
"From my clients?" She felt the blood drain out of her face, couldn't stop it.
"It's the same pattern." Calvin Meyers spoke for the first time, tugging on his bright red tie. "Two copies of the 1040s, small adjustments on various forms, to total excess on the client's copy in amounts ranging from twelve hundred to thirty-one hundred dollars." He puffed out his cheeks. "We might not have caught it, but I golf with Sid Sun. He's a whiner about taxes and kept after me to look over his form and be certain there was nothing else he could use to cut his payment."