2021-11-18 - The Lowest Bidder

For the last several days, Isi's cramped cubical in City Hall has been a busy place. Intellectually speaking, if not literally - let's face it, she is the youngest person in this small office by at least fifteen years, and the other employees basically keep their heads down, and visibly count off the days until retirement and their pensions kick in. Unless they're arguing about politics.

So, really, reviewing the city's construction ledgers is sort of a relief. There are a lot of new contracts out for bid, thanks to the Storm of the Century, and part of reviewing the bids is looking at previous contracts that these companies have done for the city, to ensure that they have the capacity for what they claim. It's meticulous, boring work. But about two days into it, Isi's accountant senses tingle. Four days into it, she has a stack of paper with copious highlights, and a growing certainty:

Two of the companies the city has used for construction over the last five years are probably cheating the hell out of the city in the process. Their bids are attractively low, but there are always unusually large cost overruns in areas where it's hard to track specific expenditures. This wouldn't be terrible; a lot of contracts pad out unexpected expenses this way. But these exceed those allowable margins by at least 20%, and several thousand dollars. And the two companies, Ladson Construction and Wychek and Sons, have put in a number of bids for the new construction, as well.

But what to do about it?

Up the chain in this case is Emil Kovacs, who is generally considered the very model of a modern city auditor. He's in his late forties, a bit pudgy but pays to tailor his very appropriate business suits well, so it doesn't show. His blond hair is thinning enough that one can catch a glimpse of dome through the fair strands, and after twenty something years studying ledgers and spreadsheets, he's earned the squint and the powerful prescription on his wire-rimmed glasses. He also hasn't had a day off since his son was born thirteen years ago, so he's definitely in his office.

When Isi stands up with her box, her office mates throw a couple of uninterested looks in her way, and one says, "Hey, if you're going by the break room, grab me a Coke from the machine. I'll pay you back."

Emil's office is, indeed, near the break room (one of the perks of rank), and his door is open. He's scowling at the computer as he types, but when someone appears in his doorway, he's quick to wave them in and to one of the mildly uncomfortable chairs on the other side of the desk.

Emil blinks at the box as it lands with a thud. Then he blinks at her. He draws himself up and inhales slowly through his nose, before saying, "I beg your pardon?" He really wants this to come off dignified and authoritarian, but he was blessed with a rather soft, pleasant voice, so he mostly sounds like a flustered librarian.

Emil looks at the box like it might hold a snake. He stands up, carefully, and looks over into it. He doesn't really look any happier to see that there's just batches of paper in there. "Are you...feeling well?" he ventures at her tone, giving her a sidelong look even as he lifts out the paperwork, and sits down to go through it. He doesn't really seem to care about the answer; he doesn't wait for it, but rather just hrms and hms and works his way through the notations and ledgers steadily.

When he's done, he doesn't say anything for a while. He does rub his thumb and forefinger under the rims of his glasses; those numbers blur together after a while. But he says, "Well, Ms. Cameron, you do seem to have uncovered some irregularities. These will have to be investigated, of course. And whatever contracts these companies are in consideration for will have to be paused until the irregularities can be cleared, one way or the other." He offers her a thin smile. "Good work. This is why we need young, passionate people in the office."

He only seems so happy about it, to be honest. But then, Emil isn't a guy with a lot of emotional range. Maybe inside, he's jumping for joy.

Emil twitches a little at the mention of assistant district attorney, and then at town council. He's pretty good at controlling his expression, but Isi's better at reading him than he'd probably be comfortable with. "Ah, yes, of course. There is a procedure for this sort of thing, of course. I'll get started on the paperwork, and then call you down to write your statement and sign off on it. We'll submit it up the chain, and the investigation will start." His smile is thin. "Actually, since this is likely to put a lot of work on your plate in the coming weeks, why don't you take the rest of the day off? We don't do many merit bonuses in government, but I can at least approve some personal time." He laughs; it rings a little hollow.

"I beg your pardon!" A 'v' of furrowed displeasure appears between Emil's brows. "Ms. Cameron, I realize that you have an admirable zeal, and that Gray Harbor is a very boring little town. But I advise that you take up a hobby, rather than inventing accusations against your superiors." He gives a harrumph. "I will progress this, of course, but know that I don't appreciate your insinuation. You may go."

"I have a few other projects to finish up, but I should be able to call you back for your official statement in a couple of days, Ms. Cameron." Emil doesn't miss that pointed silence, but he is ignoring it, equally pointedly. They are just a couple of pointy people. There's another of those very tiny twitches when she says those aren't the originals, but he smiles and says, "Oh, good. I assume you have those stored on a secure drive. Please remember not to take any confidential files out of the building, even on a thumb drive. Data security is no joke."

Then he gives her a look, and repeats, "You may go, Ms. Cameron. And...good work."

Emil sighs. "Yes, of course. Please, take the day, or what's left of it. You did good work, and deserve to be rewarded." He's still staring at the box like maybe it's gonna bite him. Or maybe it already has. But he flaps a hand at her to indicate, no really, go away.