Her expression was worried.
I took a slow breath.
"All right."
I didn't want to turn the dining room into another argument.
Mr. Lam had stopped the signing.
That was what mattered most.
As I approached the door, Whitmore spoke again.
"She'll regret this."
I stopped.
For a moment, I considered turning around.
Then Mr. Lam answered before I could.
"Charles, the only thing she has done is ask us to verify the documents."
Whitmore's face flushed.
Mr. Lam continued.
"If the documents are correct, the review will establish that."
He paused.
"And if they aren't, you'll have a much bigger problem than a waitress."
I walked out.
Teresa followed.
The door closed behind us.
And for the first time that afternoon, I let my hands shake.
Teresa took me into the employee break room.
She closed the door.
Then turned toward me.
"What the hell happened?"
I sat.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
My heart was pounding.
My mouth felt dry.
And all I could think about was Whitmore's expression when I said my name.
He recognized it.
He knew.
I looked up.
"I think I just stopped a forty-million-dollar transfer."
Teresa stared.
For a second, she seemed unable to process the sentence.
Then she sat opposite me.
"Naomi."
I swallowed.
"I know how that sounds."
She leaned forward.
"Start at the beginning."
So I told her.
Not every confidential detail.
Not every document.
But enough for her to understand why I recognized Whitmore and why the revised disbursement schedule frightened me.
Teresa listened.
Her expression changed several times.
Surprise.
Anger.
Concern.
Then something close to disbelief.
When I finished, she leaned back.
For a long moment, she stared at me.
Then she said, "Girl."
I laughed weakly.
She shook her head.
"You've been carrying plates next to me for eight months, and you used to investigate financial transactions?"
I smiled sadly.
"Review them."
She waved one hand.
"Close enough for this conversation."
I laughed.