Just as Ryan turned back toward his desk to ensure his travel mug wasn't left behind in the evening rush, a flash of white caught his eye beneath the base of his desktop calendar. Pausing with his canvas bag already slung over one shoulder, he reached down and pulled free a forgotten, heavy-stock vendor invoice that certainly hadn't been there when he packed his things minutes earlier.
The document bore the sleek letterhead of an industrial supply contractor he had never heard of, itemizing thousands of dollars in heavy-duty concrete anchors and vibration dampeners billed directly to Corravale’s regional marketing account. The project code listed at the top was entirely alien—an obscure alphanumeric string referencing structural retrofits at an off-site distribution depot in western Sydney—yet the authorization signature at the bottom featured the unmistakable, flowing loop of his own handwriting.
The fourth-floor marketing pod was completely deserted now, the hum of the air-conditioning dropping to a low, hollow thrum as the 18:05 mark ticked over on his workstation monitor. Heart thumping against his ribs, Ryan folded the impossible invoice and shoved it deep into his coat pocket alongside the growing stack of corporate ghosts, finally turning his back on the glowing screen to catch the evening train home to Rhodes.