The HR Visit Part 1

Chapter 109: The HR Visit Part 1 At 9:15 the next morning, Catherine Marsh had a finished fraud memo on her screen and a dead woman's surname waiting two floors below. Leah sat at her 34th-floor desk with the NexGen disclosure timeline open, one hand on the mouse, the other pressed flat against her notebook so no one would see it tremble. The SEC response deadline was tomorrow. David Choi would read every citation. Legal would preserve every draft in ThorneVault. If the memo failed, Martha's clinical-data trail stayed private. If Leah let Diana Voss pull her off balance, Catherine Marsh became memorable for the wrong reason. She had to complete the public-facing work of an analyst before she could hunt the private truth of a daughter. She reread the final section line by line. Internal site data showed five material discrepancies before the investor disclosures went out. The aggregate efficacy language had been softened between review and publication. The FDA inspection correspondence did not match the story Thorne Group had told the market. Leah stripped every sentence of heat until the memo sounded like a person with no blood in the case had written it. Only then did she save the file, lock the draft, and open the employee directory. Diana Voss. Senior Benefits Coordinator. Seven years at Thorne Group. No profile photograph. No social media profile that Leah could find from her desk without touching systems that would leave smoke. No obvious promotions, no departmental transfer history, no awards, no complaints. The record was not empty. It was aggressively ordinary, the kind of ordinary a frightened person built carefully or an institution built around her. The pretext had to be dull enough to survive audit. Catherine Marsh had a question about dental coverage. She had a dentist in Hoboken, could not find the out-of-network provider directory, and needed Benefits to point her to the correct PDF. No appointment. No file request. No surname probe. Leah checked the clock. 9:47. She walked to the elevator with her badge visible, her phone silent, her face composed into new-employee mildness. The 32nd floor had softer lights than Strategy, more plants, more open doors, and the polished calm of a department built to absorb other people's panic about payroll, leave, and health insurance. At reception, a young man in a gray sweater smiled automatically. "Catherine Marsh, Corporate Strategy," Leah said. "I had a quick dental-benefits question. Is there someone specific I should ask?" He checked his screen. "Diana Voss handles benefits. Office 3214, third door on the right." "Thanks." Office 3214 was closed. Leah knocked twice. "Come in." The voice was low and unhurried, with an accent Leah could not place cleanly. Not New York. Not Southern. Somewhere older than both. Diana Voss sat behind a compact desk by an east-facing window. She was in her late forties, dark hair streaked with gray and pulled into a low chignon, navy blouse neat at the throat, a thin silver chain resting against her collarbone. Her office was warm without being careless: filing cabinet, visitor chairs, benefits manuals, labor law references, one worn hardcover set apart from the compliance books. No family photographs on the visitor side. Her eyes were pale brown, almost amber in the window light, and they crossed Leah's face with the speed of a trained reader. Geraldine watched like a locked archive deciding whether to open. Diana watched like someone who had spent years deciding how much of herself could safely be seen. "Can I help you?" "Catherine Marsh. I started a few weeks ago in Corporate Strategy. I have a question about out-of-network dental coverage." "Did you check the portal?" "I did. It lists in-network providers, but I have a dentist in Hoboken." "Employee ID?" Leah recited it. Diana typed without asking her to repeat a digit. Her hands moved with practiced economy through benefits menus, plan screens, and PDF links. "You are on the PPO plan. Out-of-network dental is covered at sixty percent of usual and customary rates after deductible. Your deductible is three hundred dollars, annual maximum two thousand. The provider directory is here, under Benefits Resources. It is easy to miss." She turned the screen slightly. Leah leaned in as if the path mattered. In the reflection on the monitor's dark edge, she caught the window ledge behind Diana: a small framed photograph turned toward the desk, not toward visitors. Green trees. The corner of a house. Nothing more. "Got it," Leah said. "Thank you." Diana's smile was polite enough to close the meeting. Leah did not let it close. "Actually, one more thing. I noticed the dependent care flexible spending account. I do not have dependents, but is that something employees use often?" The pause lasted less than a second. It was still a pause. "It is available to all benefits-eligible employees," Diana said. "Usage varies by department. Strategy tends to have lower enrollment than Legal or Finance." Her smile returned, measured and intact. "You would be surprised how many people do not know it exists until they need it." There was no confession in the answer, no crack wide enough to put a question through. But Leah had not come for a confession. She had come for texture, and Diana had given her three pieces: the pause, the hidden photograph, and the necklace. Up close, the pendant was not a charm. It was an old cameo, copper-dark at the edge, a small carved profile turned inward against Diana's blouse. A family thing, not corporate jewelry. "Thanks again," Leah said. "Anytime." Diana's eyes followed her to the door. Not suspicious. Worse than suspicious: watchful. In the hallway, Leah kept walking until the elevator doors closed around her. Only then did she let the details arrange themselves. A Voss in HR with no public footprint. A photograph positioned for Diana alone. A Victorian cameo worn where visitors could not read it. A worn copy of Wuthering Heights on the shelf, its cracked spine carrying a story about children raised in the houses that hurt them. The dependent-care pause. The visit had revealed nothing that could be cited and everything that mattered. Back on the 34th floor, Leah opened the NexGen memo again and forced herself to work. Diana Voss could not be chased yet. A bad question would close a living door. A clean memo would create an audit trail Martha could not erase. Leah placed her fingers on the keyboard and returned to the language of fraud, while the office number 3214 stayed bright in her mind like a light left on behind a locked door.