Joneb spent the following evening examining the photocopy.
He had taken a picture of it before returning the original folder to the records cabinet. He enlarged the image on his phone and examined every visible detail.
The document was old enough to have passed through several hands, but one portion remained clear.
A name.
ARMAND VELASCO.
Joneb did not recognize it.
He searched the name in the office directory.
No result.
He checked old personnel lists.
Nothing.
He searched the available transaction records.
Still nothing.
It was as if Armand Velasco had never worked in the office.
Yet the photocopy suggested otherwise.
Joneb considered asking a long-serving employee. Someone who had been around long enough to remember older personnel.
He thought of Mr. Ramil, a retired employee who occasionally visited the office to process documents.
But before he could make a decision, his phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Joneb?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
A pause followed.
“My name is Armand.”
Joneb sat upright.
“Armand who?”
“Velasco.”
The room seemed to become smaller.
“Where did you get my number?”
“You have been looking for my name.”
Joneb glanced toward the bedroom door.
“Who are you?”
“I was once where you are now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I also believed that records were supposed to tell the truth.”
Joneb lowered his voice.
“Are you connected to the missing transaction?”
“I was the one who recorded it.”
“What happened to you?”
Another pause.
“Meet me tomorrow. The old municipal building. Seven in the evening.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
The call ended.
Joneb stared at the phone.
He immediately checked the call history.
The number was displayed, but when he attempted to call it back, an automated message said that the number was unavailable.
No result.
He looked at the photograph of the document again.
Armand Velasco.
The first name.
The following day passed slowly.
At work, Joneb tried to behave normally. He completed his assigned tasks, responded to emails, and attended a short meeting. But his mind remained fixed on the meeting scheduled for seven.
He did not tell Amira.
He knew she would ask questions he could not answer.
At six-thirty, he left the office.
The old municipal building stood near the town center. It was no longer used for regular operations, although some rooms remained occupied by storage materials.
When Joneb arrived, the building was almost completely dark.
He checked his watch.
Seven o'clock.
“Mr. Velasco?”
No answer.
He walked toward the entrance.
The door was slightly open.
Inside, dust covered the floor. Old furniture had been stacked along the walls, and several filing cabinets stood in the hallway.
“Mr. Velasco?”
A man's voice came from the far end.
“Here.”
Joneb turned.
An elderly man stood near a window.
He looked thinner than Joneb expected. His hair was almost completely white, and he held a walking stick.
“You're Joneb?”
“Yes.”
The man nodded.
“I have been waiting a long time.”
“Why did you call me?”
Armand looked toward the filing cabinets.
“Because you found the record.”
“I only found a photocopy.”
“That is enough.”
Joneb approached him.
“What happened to the original?”
Armand sighed.
“I don't know whether it still exists.”
“What was the transaction about?”
“It was an adjustment. A transfer of funds that should never have been approved.”
“Who approved it?”
Armand did not answer immediately.
“People with positions higher than mine.”
“Did you report it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I was accused of making an unauthorized entry. They said I had altered the records.”
Joneb frowned.
“I did. I recorded what happened. Then the entry disappeared.”
“Who removed it?”
Armand looked directly at him.
“Someone who knew how to make a lie look official.”
Joneb felt a chill.
“Why didn't you fight it?”
“I did. For a while.”
The old man walked toward a chair.
“Eventually, I lost my job. My name was removed from the office records. My family suffered. People who once greeted me avoided me.”
He paused.
“After a while, I learned that being right does not always protect you.”
Joneb thought about his own family.
Amira.
Jayvee.
Jaycee.
He understood the fear of losing a livelihood.
“What does this have to do with Educatia?” he asked.
Armand's face changed.
For the first time, he appeared genuinely frightened.
“Where did you hear that name?”
Joneb said nothing.
Armand gripped his walking stick.
“Then it has begun again.”
“What has begun?”
“The crossing.”
Before Armand could explain, a loud metallic sound came from the hallway.
Both men turned.
A filing cabinet had opened.
A sheet of yellow paper slowly slid onto the floor.
Joneb recognized the symbol.
The open eye.
Armand stepped backward.
“We have to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because they know we're together.”
A shadow moved behind the filing cabinets.
Armand grabbed Joneb's arm.
“Listen carefully. The first name is not the person you are looking for.”
“Then who is?”
Armand's voice dropped to a whisper.
“The one who erased all the names.”
The lights went out.
When they returned, Armand was gone.
Only his walking stick remained on the floor.
And beside it was a yellow paper with a new message.
THE FIRST WITNESS HAS ALREADY BEEN ERASED.