Mallory ran a hand through his thinning hair as he glanced over the budget report for the month. The glow of his terminal's screen cast hard shadows across the aging man's face, the blue light the only source of illumination in the office. The file was not very long; the Service's funding was frugal at best and scratching along just above the poverty line at worst. Most of the allotted money went towards paying the marshals' salaries with the rest contributing towards equipment and supplies needed for them to perform their everyday duties. All in all, nothing special nor interesting. One page, however, caught his attention.
"What the hell," the deputy director muttered as he leaned in closer to the monitor, his brows furrowed in a cocktail of confusion and frustration.
A minute later, he stood outside the director's office, PDA in hand, and knocked against the open door. Not bothering to await a reply, Mallory stepped in, placing the datapad on the desk in front of his superior, and crossed his arms.
"Mind explaining to me why we received a payment of several dozen million credits from one of our men?" Mallory looked down at the young woman sitting at her desk. "Ma'am." He added, his tone hinting at the disdain he felt towards her.
