When the waiter returned, Marta asked Denise, “Do you mind if I order for the table?” Denise nodded and Marta spoke for a few minutes in the rapid, guttural Spanish characteristic of Puerto Rico. The waiter smiled his approval and returned to the kitchen.
“This restaurant has the most authentic Borinquen food you’ll find in Boston. I’ve never been disappointed,” said Marta.
“Borinquen?” asked Denise.
“The Taíno word for Puerto Rican,” Marta explained.
“Taíno?”
“Ah. The indigenous people of Puerto Rico were the Taíno Indians.”
“Well, this will be something new for me. It’s hard to find any cuisine in Boston other than Italian. Or seafood—but it’ll probably be in marinara sauce,” said Denise. The family facing her chuckled.
A tureen of black bean soup appeared, following the appetizers. Marta smiled. “Some people say that the black bean soup is Cuban in origin, but I do not accept that. One hundred percent Puerto Rican puro.”
They finished their soup and awarded plaudits to Marta for her choices. Then the table grew quiet.
“Suppose you tell me what’s troubling you,” Marta said to Denise. “Relax, take your time.”
Denise Warren drew in a deep breath and exhaled. She lost her hesitant manner. “Okay, here goes. NMech’s bookkeeping for accounts receivable—the money that customers owe us—is easy to automate. Same transactions, over and over. Every month the same prescription or the same lease payment for an environmental project. That’s the key. The transactions are repetitive, and no one really has to look at them.”
Denise continued, a professional in her element. She had the table’s full attention. Waitstaff cleared plates, poured wine and water, and left, unnoticed.
“If the accounting system is up to snuff, then you can trust the results, as long as people use the system.” She looked around to make sure the family was following her explanation.
“Okay. One more technical bit, then it’ll be clear. There are millions of transactions. Accountants, auditors, regulators—they can’t check each one. So the auditors pick a sample and test. If there are any discrepancies in the sample, then there’s a problem.”
Heads nodded around the table.
“Well, I’m new at NMech. I wanted to learn more about my job, so I spent some time looking into the operations. And that’s when I found it.” The forlorn look returned to her face.
“And it is…?” Marta prompted.
“There’s, um, too much money. I know that sounds crazy. But revenue exceeds what we were owed. The amount of money that people pay us should equal the amount of money that they owe us, right? I mean, nobody pays extra. The difference was barely enough to notice. A few dollars. Even auditors disregard this small of a discrepancy. But I was curious.”
“What I found was that there were some customers paying us even though the accounts were closed.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem?” asked Marta.
“The accounts were closed for nonpayment. But those customer accounts were current.”
“Okay, so we owe them a refund. I still don’t see the problem.”
“Most problems were minor. When customers complained, we apologized and gave them a free month or two. They were happy and life went on. But here’s the scary part. I don’t know how to say this.”
“‘Start at the beginning, continue to the middle, and stop at the end,’” said Jim.
“Alice in Wonderland,” Denise smiled.
Jim started to speak again but Marta stopped him. “Tell us the rest, dear,” she said.
“Some customers didn’t complain. And the reason those customers didn’t complain—” Denise hesitated.
“Go ahead, Denise,” Marta prompted gently.
“—is…they’re dead. They died. Their meds were cut off and they died. And I think it was done deliberately.”
“You’re kidding,” said Marta.
“No.” Denise picked up her glass and sipped her wine. She looked around. The shadows outside had grown longer as the day ran out. People hurried by on the street. They were like streaks of color flashing across the restaurant’s window. Denise studied her wine glass as if there were an answer there to the riddle she’d found.
She shook her head slightly and refocused on her story. “I dug a bit and looked into the patient backgrounds to see if there was something they had in common. Maybe that would identify an error in the accounting system. And I found it.”
She picked up her glass again and drained it. “Not one of them had any family to speak of. No husbands, no wives, no kids or parents. I couldn’t even find any friends. Nobody to miss them. Dr. Cruz, Marta, I’d swear that these customers were selected because nobody would ask questions. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”
“Holy crap,” said Marta, who never swore. “How long?” she asked in a clipped voice.
“The first case I found was a SNAP user named Emery Miller in Venice, California, about a year ago. Since then, I’ve found eleven other customers who had their nanoagents terminated for nonpayment. Each one was from a different division of NMech. None of the deaths looked suspicious, so there was no investigation. But we’re still getting paid. So the problem is not with the accounting programs, but with someone tinkering with the program, someone who’s smart, but not an accountant.”
They stopped eating while to absorb the news. Jim waved off a waiter who hurried to the table to ask if there were a problem. Marta picked up a wine bottle. “I think I need another glass. Anybody else?” There were nods around the table and Marta poured.
“That was about a year ago, you say?” asked Jim.
Denise nodded.
Marta and Jim looked at each other. Marta said one word, “Eva.” Jim nodded slowly and said, “That would have been about when Eva was getting the bid ready for Rockford. Do you think that there’s a connection?”
Movement stopped around the table. Denise looked puzzled, but realized that Marta and Jim, even Dana, knew something that she was about to learn.
The waiter served the main course family-style. Beef stew served in a heavy kettle, accompanied by a delicate chayote squash and fried plantain slices. They pondered Denise’s revelation while they ate. Dana only pushed his food around his plate.
Marta turned to Denise. “Can you make a list of the customers who were affected? We have to deal with this.”
Denise looked miserable. “No. I can’t. I was locked out of the system two days ago. I thought I’d been fired but I’m still on the payroll. Just all of my company access is gone.”
“What the hell is Eva up to?” Jim asked. There was no reply.
The NMech jet circled Boston’s Logan airport until the air traffic controller indicated a break in the commercial traffic and provided landing instructions. The pilot taxied to a private hanger and rolled to a stop. Rafael Cruz and his escorts were met by two more NMech security agents. He was frisked and warned again.
A woman’s voice said, “You’re coming with me.”
Rafael turned and saw a small woman. She directed the security men to flank Rafael Cruz, and then waved her sleeve at the ex-prisoner.
“Recording. Say hello to your daughter. She’ll get the datafeed soon.”
Eva Rozen’s Boston home resembled her office—functional and unadorned. The dwelling’s front door led to a stairway. At the third floor there was a narrow hallway that ran the length of the unit’s spine. The lighting was dim and consisted of old-fashioned light bulbs. There were no brightwalls here. She’d even removed all of the windows in the apartment and replaced the self-cleaning, insulated nanocoated glass with old-fashioned window panes. It had been difficult to find a glazier with ordinary panes, but Rozen had the resources to pay for the out-of-style glass.