“Oh no. Same exact receipt as I’d gotten the day before except somebody had added a three to the total. I don’t know what the heck is going on but I sure can’t turn in a receipt for $389 for an oil change and a transmission flush.”

“Do you have that receipt?” A.L. asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m going to need to see it,” he said.

Twenty minutes later, he and Rena pulled up to Peitra Jonet’s house. She met them at the door with receipt in hand. Both he and Rena glanced at it. “We’re going to need to take this with us,” he said.

She shrugged. “I guess that’s okay. It’s not like I can turn it in anyway.”

They walked back to their vehicle and backed down her driveway. However, two blocks away, A.L. pulled off. He studied the receipt. “This is the opposite of skimming.”

“Skimming?” Rena asked.

“Yeah. Restaurants, dry cleaners, dog walkers, hair stylists. Hell, I don’t know, probably just about any small business and probably some large ones, too, underreport sales. Then they don’t have to claim income or subsequently pay taxes on their real revenue, but rather on some reduced amount. But it looks like Troy is overstating his revenue. Why do that?”

“To make his financials look better. So he could qualify for more financing,” Rena said. “From his friend Steven Hanzel.”

“I’m a simple guy but overstating your revenue doesn’t do anything to improve your actual financial position. You don’t end up with more cash on hand. In fact, wouldn’t it make you look worse? Like you’re making all these sales but where’s the money?”

“We need a better look at his financial records. Or should we say, his cooked books?” Rena said. “It’s already pretty late on a Sunday night. We’re going to need a warrant and some resources to help us if we’re going to do this right. Maybe we wait until morning.”

“Absolutely not,” A.L. said. “I want those records and I want them now.”

At 1:13 on Monday morning, they knocked on Troy and Leah Whitman’s door. It was opened promptly since they’d called ahead. The young FBI agent motioned them in. They found both Leah and Troy in the living room. She was standing by the bay window that looked out into the dark backyard. He was sitting in the chair. They didn’t appear to have been talking.

A.L. handed him the signed warrant. “You can ride with us down to the garage. A technician will be meeting us there. We will take custody of your computer and any other electronic or paper records that are deemed financial in nature.”

“This makes no sense,” Leah said.

“Are you ready?” A.L. asked, looking at Troy.