As a tax accountant, Natsuki would be feeling an itch to balance the books, but for Sora, the biggest problem was that something that hadn’t happened for six years was now happening in the past two.
“Is there anything missing in the account books?”
“Sometimes there’s a transaction, but the sales would be zero. When I ask him, ‘Isn’t there something missing here?’ he brings over a wad of bills from his safe and asks me how much there should be…” Natsuki flopped back on the sofa with a distant look in her eyes. “He’s never been the type to look at his accounts. He hasn’t had to do much real work for a while.”
“I’ve seen many like him. They’re surprisingly common among senior management.”
In his work as a certified fraud examiner, Sora had encountered similar situations several times, where a potential case of fraud turned out simply to be sloppy bookkeeping, as some presidents of small-to-medium-sized companies didn’t even want to look at numbers. In those cases, he only had to take care of the inadvertent omission in the tax return filing, and the matter would close without turning into a criminal case. Those were the best-case scenarios, but Sora was shocked by the number of business managers who never looked over their accounts.
“Managing a business and managing accounts are two separate things, I guess—and apparently, in the old days, they did just fine going by ballpark figures and slapdash bookkeeping. Mr. Odajima probably has decades’ worth of savings stashed away, and the company’s doing well with multiple departments. They didn’t drop out of the race even after the bubble burst and the Lehman shock happened. But now, this is something else.” Natsuki sighed.
After all that, Sora had a big question. “Wait a moment, Ms. Koudera. Then who is going to be my client? Aren’t you a third-party accountant for the subsidiary company owned by the chairman?”
“Just ‘Natsuki.’ Everyone in this town calls me by my first name. Yes, and there’s the rub.” Natsuki folded her arms in contemplation as Sora wondered what she meant by that. A few moments later, she said, “I’ll hire you. How much do you charge?”
This was a twist Sora hadn’t expected.
“I don’t think it’s reasonable or profitable for you to hire me. I’ve never dealt with a case like this before.”
Almost always, some internal personnel of a company would hire Sora as an independent third party. In a situation like this with Odajima Construction, the internal audit office of the company itself would usually be the one to call him in, either because they couldn’t handle the issue themselves or because they couldn’t investigate the chairman internally.
“I don’t want Mr. Odajima to get arrested or anything! I’d pay you a million yen if you could clean up the mess before it gets out.”
“I can’t just step in and ‘clean up the mess’! I’m not a jack-of-all-trades.” Sora’s voice rose in disbelief. To prevent an arrest for a million yen? He’d never heard of such a haphazard request.
Apparently familiar with Natsuki’s ways, Hiraga and Miku went on with their work as usual, not even looking up from their desks.
“I know that,” Natsuki answered, her face suddenly serious. “Mr. Oushuu, you’re a professional. A certified fraud examiner. If there was anything fishy going on, you could pin down the evidence and make him come to his senses. Please!”
Natsuki clearly had an accurate understanding of what Sora did for a living, even though the work of a certified fraud examiner wasn’t common knowledge.
“If I found evidence of a significant collusion, I’d need to report it to the District Public Prosecutors’ Office—otherwise, it would amount to a cover-up.”
“Collusions are run-of-the-mill for the industry, more or less. Odajima is the go-to company for general contractors, after all, so I could tell that something or other was going on in the past, too. That’s normal. But now it’s become sort of chaotic. I don’t have a clue what they’re up to… I’m worried for them.”
Natsuki’s fierce gaze met Sora’s. Despite her unwavering determination, Sora could sense that she was truly anxious.
“I’m not a good candidate for this case.”
Sora let out a heavy sigh when he realized that Natsuki wanted to protect Chairman Odajima. Sora had been ready to take a step forward, brimming with a desire to live in harmony with the people of Shizukuishi, but the reality hit him. Just one night’s sleep wasn’t enough to change who he was.
“How so?”
“I’m very uncomfortable with gray zones. I chose to follow the path of law because laws can judge people’s actions rationally and punish criminals properly for their misdeeds. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s who I am at heart.”
Though he himself was disappointed by this turn of events, especially since he’d felt so inspired to build a new life with these people, Sora thought it was best for both sides if he declined this offer.
“That’s a heavy burden to bear.”
“I agree completely, but it’s not easy for me to change. If the law says something is a crime, then I have to—”
“Mr. Oushuu, what’s your first name?”
“Hmm? It’s Sora.”
He tilted his head in confusion at the abrupt question. He’d been offering this earnest confession for both their sakes, so why was she interrupting?
“How do you write it? Can you show me?”
She handed him two pieces of paper, and Sora wrote down the kanji characters, thinking of his brother, who was just beginning to learn how to write.
“It’s a slightly unusual combination. The kanji for so is the same as kara, or emptiness… Oh!”
Someone grabbed his right hand from behind, and before he knew it, Miku had dabbed a red ink pad onto his thumb, pressed his thumb down on the paper, and returned back to her desk as if nothing happened.
“It might be old-fashioned to make use of thumbprints and stamps in a contract, but we’re grateful for your agreement.”
“What are you doing?! Please give me back my thumbprint!!”
“Now, now. I’m not as ruthless as you think. Could you hear me out, at least? Please!”