She hesitated.
"Not the whole page."
"What did you preserve?"
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered, "Something better than nothing."
I waited.
She took a breath.
"Before we moved the old ledgers into archive storage, we scanned selected pages for the annual inventory reconciliation."
I leaned forward.
"Was page 187 included?"
She shook her head.
"Not in the final packet."
I felt a moment of disappointment.
Then she continued.
"But it was on the scanner."
I looked up.
She met my eyes.
"The technician was supposed to scan pages 180 through 190. The job failed near the end, and the final archive packet was generated from a second scan."
I considered.
"Was the first scan retained?"
"I don't know."
She swallowed.
"But the scanner sometimes stores failed jobs temporarily."
I stared at her.
That was important.
Not because a temporary file would automatically be usable as evidence.
Its integrity and origin would need verification.
But if an earlier image of page 187 existed, it might show what someone later removed.
"Which scanner?"
She told me.
It stood in a records-processing room on the lower floor.
I reached for my phone.
Called Dana.
Then explained what Evelyn had discovered.
Dana listened.
"We'll need forensic preservation of the device and any connected storage."
"Exactly."
She paused.
"Is there a reason to believe the files still exist?"
"Only that a prior scan may have been cached."
"Understood."
I ended the call.
Then looked toward Evelyn.
"You did the right thing by telling us."
Her eyes filled.
For a moment, she seemed embarrassed.
Then she whispered, "I should've spoken sooner."
I shook my head.
"You reported the discrepancies. You kept asking questions."
She looked down.
"Nobody listened."
I studied her.
"Somebody is listening now."
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked up.
And asked a question that told me how much pressure she had endured.
"Can they fire me for helping you?"
I answered carefully.
"I can't promise no one will try to retaliate. But there are protections and reporting processes available, and we'll document any interference or threats."
She nodded slowly.
Then whispered, "I've given this department thirty years."
I looked toward the door.
"I know."
Her voice trembled.
"I didn't spend thirty years keeping evidence safe so somebody could steal it and tell me the paperwork was inconvenient."
I nodded.
"Then let's find out what happened."
The scanner did contain remnants of the original job.
Not a neat, complete file waiting conveniently on the desktop.
That would have been too easy.