On the desk, the younger mechanic spread out printed receipts, inventory records, and copies of the repair invoices. He had spent hours comparing the descriptions and dates. Several items billed to the club did not match the supplier records, while others had apparently been ordered for a different motorcycle altogether.
One expensive ignition component had been purchased but never installed.
A replacement charging unit had been billed twice.
And an outside service charge appeared on an invoice from a business that had no record of working on the Shovelhead.
The president examined the documents.
"How much?"
The mechanic took a breath.
"At least twenty-six hundred dollars we can't account for. Maybe more."
The president sat down slowly.
Twenty-six hundred dollars.
That was enough to buy essential supplies for months of workshop classes. It was enough to help several families repair vehicles they depended on for work. It represented money collected through donations, membership dues, and countless small fundraising events.
The president looked toward the garage.
"Fourteen years," he said quietly.
The younger mechanic didn't answer.
"I trusted him with everything."
The mechanic nodded.
"I know."
The president opened another invoice.
"What about the motorcycle?"
"We're still checking. The retired technician thinks several components may have been disturbed unnecessarily."
"Could that have happened by accident?"
"Some of it, maybe. But not everything."
The president rubbed his forehead.
He wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation. He wanted the lead mechanic to walk into the office carrying missing receipts and a credible account of the mistakes. He wanted the last fourteen years to mean something.
But every hour brought another inconsistency.
And the more they examined the records, the harder it became to dismiss what they were finding.
The president looked at the younger mechanic.
"Document everything. Don't throw anything away, and don't let anyone work on that motorcycle without recording it."
The mechanic nodded.
"Already started."
"And call the treasurer."
"What do you want me to tell him?"
"Tell him we may have a serious accounting problem."
The younger mechanic hesitated.
"What about the police?"
The president stared at the invoices.
"We're getting close to that."
The teenager arrived shortly after ten.
The family services coordinator had arranged transportation because the weather was poor, and she wanted him to maintain a predictable schedule while his temporary housing situation was being resolved. The boy had agreed to attend the garage's educational activities for a few hours, provided they were supervised and didn't interfere with the appointments being arranged for him.
He carried his backpack as usual.
The president greeted him near the entrance.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"How'd you sleep?"
"Better."
"Good."
The teenager glanced toward the motorcycle.
"Any news?"
"Still checking things."
The boy looked disappointed.
The president smiled faintly.