Shredding Room
The guard stopped at the threshold and allowed Veronika to step in alone. Three rows of industrial machines, sheathed in metal cylinders, waited in silence. Once activated, the system would drag in letters and memoranda to shred them.
Veronika planted herself beside the first shredder and stared at the mountain of paper still intact.
—Damn it —she muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
The blades would remain still until the programmed hour. Using that margin, she slipped among the shelves packed with boxes. She pulled down the first she found and checked its contents.
The guard frowned, puzzled.
—Are you planning to spend the whole night opening boxes at random?
—Even if it looks chaotic, people can't help but impose some kind of order —Veronika replied, without looking up. — In these boxes there's a system, in some form.
The guard shrugged, adopting the posture of an impatient sentry.
Veronika lowered another box and examined its contents.
—Whoever sorted this followed a horizontal order: dates, left to right. With that I can approximate where to search.
She moved down a couple of aisles, crouched at a specific shelf, and pulled out several folders.
—Documents from this month —she murmured.
After scanning a stack of pages, she clicked her tongue.
—The letters of intent aren't here.
—Maybe they've already been shredded —the guard suggested.
—It makes no sense to remove only those —Veronika countered. — The memoranda from day one are still here, as are the expense reports… but receipts are missing.
She turned toward the guard.
—Invoices, bank statements, customs manifests… This madhouse should be drowning in stamped papers from public offices. Yet nothing.
The guard tilted her head, beginning to understand.
—So what will you do?
—Turn it around.
She headed to the back of the aisle and scanned the opposite shelves.
—Here they are!
—What? —the guard asked, following.
—I assumed whoever organized this would separate internal documents from external ones and place them at opposite ends. But these are from months ago…
She rushed through two sections until she found a row that was less crowded.
—Then it must be here. There are fewer external documents overall. And if you don't mind, I need you to help me get this box down.
—Why?
—… I can't reach it.
The guard, half-intrigued and half-resigned, helped. They carried the box to the central table; Veronika overturned it and dumped all the papers across the surface.
—What exactly are you looking for?
—There were 147 bidders in Eva's report. There should be that many, or one less, here.
The letters shared a format: date, sender, price per gallon. One signature caught Veronika's eye; she held it up for the guard to see.
—Can I take this out?
—No, unless you want to present it already as evidence.
Veronika snorted and kept counting.
—One hundred forty-seven… —her voice sharpened—. This is strange.
—You said that was the exact figure. What's strange about it?
—Not that, I already thought that was possible. The other bidders sent several letters, but only signed once. However, "ST" appears with two signed letters.
She compared them.
—In the second one they lowered their price.
Then she spotted the next sender's letter:
—Vostok —Veronika murmured, reading the signature. —ST's first proposal was higher than Vostok's, but the second is lower. That would make them the second bidder. —She held her head in her hands.
—I don't have the list to confirm if that was the changed figure.
She pressed her fingers to her temple.
—Another way… I can't get further than this.
—That's it? —the guard asked.
—Yes…
Veronika gave up on thinking it through further.
—At least that part about the order of boxes from past months was impressive.
—Past months?
—Yes, past documents.
Veronika looked at her in surprise.
—Past documents… that's it. The reports of past auctions must still be here.
—But not in this box —the guard replied.
—Because they're internal documents. They're in the first boxes I saw.
She rose from the chair and went back to the first shelves she had checked.
—Here it is! Report from last month.
She flipped through it; "ST" was listed as the absolute top bidder, with no trace of Vostok.
—We need to pull out the letters from last month. Help me.