Chapter 18 - The Core Samples
"This is irrelevant nonsense," Richard whispered, his voice suddenly gravelly. "That project was certified twenty-four years ago."
"Certified with forged signatures," Martin Hayes said, pulling out a second document. "David Vance kept the duplicate core sample logs in his personal lockbox. He had them notarized by the county clerk the day before your firm had him removed from the site. And last week, our independent structural team ran sonar diagnostics on Pylon 7 in the basement parking garage of this building."
Martin paused, leaning across the table until he was inches from Richard’s face.
"You substituted four-thousand-PSI commercial mix with unreinforced two-thousand-PSI residential aggregate to pocket a four-million-dollar cost overrun," Martin stated. "David Vance caught it. You buried it. And my office filed a formal complaint with the State Attorney General’s Anti-Fraud and Infrastructure Integrity Division at eight o'clock this morning."
Clara looked at her father, her eyes wide with mounting panic. "Daddy? What is he talking about? Tell them this is a lie!"
Richard didn't look at his daughter. His eyes were locked on the yellowed carbon copies of David’s handwriting. He knew that signature. It was the handwriting of a man who had refused to take an envelope of hundred-dollar bills twenty-five years ago in a construction trailer in the rain.
"If the Attorney General opens that file," Richard said, his voice barely audible, "the city will condemn the lower four levels. The financing on the riverfront development will collapse."
May you like
"It’s already open, Richard," I said, leaning forward. "Brandon handed the file to the lead investigator an hour ago. You wanted to audit my life? You wanted to take David’s house to pay for your daughter’s party dresses? David protected this city when he was alive. Did you really think he couldn't protect his wife from the grave?"
Richard dropped his gold pen. It rolled off the mahogany table and fell onto the plush carpet, silent as ash.
