Chapter 16
The hum of the logistics terminal filled the small, windowless office like the drone of trapped insects.
The screen's aging fan wheezed and stuttered, casting erratic shadows across Riley's face as the manifest records for the last quarter scrolled by in endless, hypnotic lines.
Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, a bitter, oily film coating the surface like the green scum that forms on a stagnant pond.
Riley leaned forward, elbow grinding against the desk's chipped laminate, her eyes burning as she scanned each line for irregularities. The fluorescent light above her flickered every now and then. It made the numbers dance and skip. She blinked and rubbed her eyes to refocus.
On the surface, everything matched. The numbers lined up with mathematical precision, the weights and destinations sitting exactly where they should be.
A perfect, pretty puzzle assembled by someone with obsessive attention to detail.
Well, they hadn’t met her, had they? She may not be as obsessive with detail as this mysterious Admin person, but she was determined to find out what the hell was happening.
One of the few ways she was like her father.
She wouldn’t let a challenge go without conquering it.
Her finger began a restless tattoo against the desk as her eyes drifted to two shipments marked with the red flag of expedited processing.
Both had left the site weeks apart, one bound for Indonesia, the other for Bolivia.
There was nothing unusual about the destinations themselves; the company had been shipping to both countries for years.
Still, of all the corners of the world where they did ship … why those two countries?
So many questions, yet what made her stomach tighten was the timing.
Then, there was the way the drum counts never fluctuated.
Not even by a single unit. Even when the September typhoon had delayed three other shipments by days.
She pulled up the local paper to cross reference the dates of the dock workers' strike.
It should have backed up everything heading out.
Yet the expedited processing shipments? They moved like clockwork, untouched by the chaos that snarled every other operation.
Her fingers continued to drum on the small desk where she’d been working.
No one would look for searches from a customer service terminal.
She ensured all her actions were justified by reports Marisol had requested.
Her fingerprints weren’t on the data, and her reason for being in logistics?
Easy. Compliance inspection. No one would be the wiser.
There was no trail of her obtaining the information she was seeing now.
She hit save, and the data flowed to her thumb drive.
The familiar prickle started at the base of her skull, creeping down her spine like ice water. She didn't need to look up to know someone was watching her. She always knew. It was a sixth sense honed by years of boardroom politics and family dinners where every word was a potential weapon.
Don't turn around yet. Keep looking at the screen. Count to ten.
One. Two. Three.
Her breathing slowed deliberately, the way her self-defense instructor had taught her. Control what you can control.
Four. Five. Six.
The feeling intensified, boring into her back like a physical weight.
Seven. Eight.
Casual. Make it look casual.
Nine. Ten.
Riley reached for her notebook with studied nonchalance, turning just enough to catch the reflection in the office's glass partition.
There, Mauro Delgado stood near the main door like a predator marking territory, his broad frame filling the doorway as he gestured to one of his warehouse clerks.
His hands moved in animated conversation, but his dark eyes kept sliding toward her with the persistence of a searchlight.
She signed out of the system and then removed the thumb drive from the machine.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. It wasn't the first time he’d been the one who’d made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Hell, it wasn't even the tenth time. Every time she lingered too long over a shipment log, every time she cross-referenced a destination or pulled up historical data, Mauro seemed to materialize from thin air. Always within sight. Always watching. Never close enough to justify a confrontation. But she noticed. Would she have a year ago? Probably not, but she’d become hypervigilant.
One of the bullshit extras the abduction had left her.
You're being paranoid, she told herself, but the words felt hollow. Paranoia was imagining people where there were none. Mauro was here and there and everywhere she was. That wasn’t paranoia. That was concerning. She needed to talk to Talon.
Her phone erupted against the desk with a violent buzz that sent her heart hammering against her ribs. The screen lit up with a name that made her blood run cold.
Harlan Shoemaker. Her father. Her instinct was to wonder how she’d disappointed him this time.
Riley stared at the phone for three more buzzes, her finger hovering over the screen. Whatever this was about, it wasn't good news. She swiped to answer, her voice carefully neutral. "Yes, sir?"
"Riley."
The single word hit her like a slap. No greeting, no preamble, just her name delivered with the warmth of a morgue drawer slamming shut.
In the background, she could hear the distant murmur of voices.
He was calling from his office, probably between meetings, treating this conversation like another item to check off his list.
"I've been hearing that you're spending an excessive amount of time in the logistics wing." Each word was precisely enunciated, which was the way he spoke to board members he was about to fire. "That's not what you're there for."
Riley straightened in her chair, her free hand clenching into a fist. The irritation that flared in her chest was immediate and familiar—the same response she'd had to his dismissive tone since she was twelve years old and trying to explain why her report card wasn't perfect.
"I'm performing ESG oversight, Dad. Environmental, social, and governance compliance, which is exactly what I'm here for. Reviewing environmental controls includes verifying the storage protocols and ensuring—"
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't quote me your contract like I'm some junior executive who doesn't understand the business.
You are there to manage our public image, to glad-hand environmental groups, and write your pretty reports about our carbon footprint.
You are not there to audit logistics operations.
That's not your expertise, and it's not your department. "
The condescension in his voice made her jaw clench so hard her teeth ached. "Dad, if there are inconsistencies in the shipping manifests that could indicate—"
"Then the proper channels will address them through the appropriate oversight mechanisms." His words came faster now, clipped and final. "And, Riley.”
The pause stretched several heartbeats. She knew that pause. It preceded the verbal equivalent of a surgical strike. She knew his next words were designed to cut deep and leave no room for argument.
"You've been given a very good position. Better than you earned, if I’m being honest. Don't make me regret giving it to you."
The line went dead.
Riley lowered the phone with movements that felt underwater-slow, her pulse thundering so loud in her ears it nearly drowned out the terminal's electronic hum. She turned and looked directly at Mauro, leveling her glare at him. He blinked and then turned away quickly to leave the area. Riley lifted her shoulders with a determination that had grown from doubt to suspicion to the cold, precise knowledge that her father was involved in something illegal. She needed help to prove it. The breadcrumbs she had now weren’t good enough.
She picked up her notebook and files and then waved to Marisol as she left the small workstation.
“Everything okay?” Marisol asked.
“Your section is in great shape.” She gave Marisol a wave and headed back to her office. Damn it. Her father calling when she was in logistics meant he knew when she was logged in. Her IT access was compromised.
Her gaze slid to a glass partition behind her. A reflection of Mauro as he exited the section and turned toward the elevators played on the glass. She headed for the stairs. Where was he going? She exited the stairwell and damn near bumped into Mauro.
“Sorry, I was heading to the break room.” Mauro pushed past her.
“You don’t have a break room downstairs?” She turned to look at him, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at him.
His eyes darted around. “Need to borrow some creamer.” He turned quickly and ducked into the small cove where the coffee machine was located.
Riley swallowed hard, her throat feeling raw and tight.
Her hands shook slightly as she walked to her office.
She sat at her desk until Mauro came of the break room, empty-handed.
He glanced at her office and ducked into the stairwell.
“I’m not paranoid.” She took out her phone, scrolling past work numbers to the entry she needed.
Talon.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Once she sent this message, there would be no taking it back. No pretending she hadn't crossed whatever invisible line her father had drawn around the logistics operation.
Riley: I need to talk. This is … important.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
The reply came so fast it made her jump.
Talon: Now or later tonight?
Riley stared at the words, her heart still racing.
The smart thing would be to wait, go home, let it go, and stop hyping up her concerns.
Heck, maybe she could convince herself she was overreacting.
But she wasn’t, and if her father had his way, she’d soon be sidelined because she wasn’t going to stop.