Chapter 7
TAMSIN
Somewhere along the way, we’d found a rhythm working together. Binders, field sheets, inventory lists, and transfer records covered the table. Sealed cases were lined up in a row so I could match what was physically on hand with what was on the updated records.
Black Crowns rotated through the doors and the loading area. Though impossible to ignore, they stayed out of the way while ensuring everyone in the building remained safe. Gavin never left my side for long, only stepping away a couple of times to take a phone call.
He carried whatever I pointed at. Shifted the cases I couldn’t budge. Pulled files off the high shelves. And the couple of times one of my people looked at him for direction, he just waited until they turned to me instead.
Gavin never treated my authority as a threat to his own. His confidence only made him more attractive. And so did the flex of his muscles when he hefted stuff at my request.
Setting another stack of binders beside my elbow, he murmured, “You keep finding things for me to carry.”
“Of course I do.” I smiled up at him. “My dad taught me not to waste resources, and you’re always around since you keep following me.”
“Excellent decisions on both our parts.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the top binder so he wouldn’t see how much I liked having him at my back. Not that it did me much good since he was too darn perceptive for my own good. And with how close of an eye he kept on me, he’d already learned to read my expressions too well.
Every time I bent over a report or stretched for a shelf, I caught him watching. He never once pretended he wasn’t enjoying the view either. Which made me blush every time. Including now.
Ducking my head, I flipped the binder open and got back to work.
Unfortunately, the results of today’s inventory were even worse than I’d expected.
There was too much missing for last night’s theft to account for it all.
Not when the Black Crowns had disrupted the break-in, and some of the items were found in parts of the warehouse with no other signs of compromise.
“I need to go further back.”
“More binders for me to carry?” Gavin asked, watching the employees moving around us.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I stood with a sigh. “And many more reports for me to review, line by line.”
He followed me to the records room and helped me bring back stacks of binders. Going backward week by week over the past six months, I started matching physical stock against the closeout packets from shows.
One report made me pause because the final usage total during the next day’s reconciliation was higher than the number on my original field sheet. I figured I had grabbed the wrong packet and checked the job number twice. They matched.
My sheet showed what left the warehouse, what we fired, and what came back. The final report claimed more material had been used or damaged than I recorded.
I found a second discrepancy. Then a third.
Each difference was small enough not to raise a red flag due to the sizable cost of the shows. But when added together across several jobs, the missing amounts were substantial.
Several of the packets in front of me had revised numbers with no real explanation. All from jobs I signed off on, and my original sheets still matched the return forms from the sites.
I started pulling every file with my name on it to confirm the pattern.
The discrepancies clustered on displays I had supervised.
A lot of them were from my first solo jobs.
The company's records made it look like I kept losing track of small amounts of product, but I was certain my numbers were right. “Dammit.”
“What’s wrong?” Gavin asked.
“That’s what I want to know,” my dad murmured.
I’d been so focused on the reports that I hadn’t noticed him joining us.
“You should both see this.” I waved them closer and walked them through my discovery. Len joined us a few minutes in.
My dad scrubbed a palm down his face. “Could some of these be honest mistakes? You were still getting used to solo jobs on the older ones.”
I understood his impulse to search for an innocent explanation, but the question still stung.
I’d been extra careful back then because I was all too aware that most of the people I worked with thought I’d been given the role purely because of who my dad was.
The last thing I wanted was to prove them right.
“No, I tripled-counted everything on my earlier jobs.”
“Field sheets are only the first part of the closeout process for a reason,” Len pointed out. “Once material returns, the crew finishes inspection and modifications are made. We should comb over every document before we accuse people of theft.”
Not only did he focus on my dad while I was the one who’d discovered the issues, but his explanation made my work sound unreliable without directly accusing me of being careless.
I jabbed my finger at the pile, angry that someone had changed the usage after the paperwork left my hands. “Valid corrections document why that number changed. These reports contain no damage form, transfer notice, or crew statement supporting the difference.”
Gavin pulled three altered statements and slid them across the table next to their corresponding field sheets. “If these were mistakes, why does every correction show inventory loss?”
He’d caught the heart of the problem while it was still a niggle in the back of my brain. None of the adjustments decreased the amount supposedly used on those jobs. “That’s a great question.”
He looked up at Len and my dad. “Mistakes happen in both directions. But none of the discrepancies Tamsin has found show extra material returning to the warehouse. Every change created a shortage that someone benefited from.”
“We need to review more reports before jumping to conclusions.” Len raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve worked with some of these guys for more than a decade. We can’t accuse them of stealing without actual evidence.”
I barely held back my huff of irritation because he sure didn’t seem to have a problem with suggesting that I’d messed up without proof.
Luckily, my dad knew me well enough to get him out of the room. “We’ll keep digging. You go ahead and keep the warehouse functioning as close to normal as you can.”
Len nodded. “Will do.”
As the echo of Len’s footsteps became softer, Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to know how far back this goes, how much we’re missing, and if the same person signed off on the adjustments.”
“I won’t stop until I have those answers.” For him and for me.
He headed back to the front office to handle the influx of client calls, and I began pulling more reports.
My anger sped up the process. Somebody thought my name and age were the perfect cover.
They expected others to believe I made mistakes out of inexperience.
But I was going to prove how wrong they’d been to pull me into this.
More hours passed until the lines started to blur. I rubbed my eyes as I pulled another binder from the stacks.
Gavin pressed his hand on the top cover.
I twisted around to look up at him. “I’m using that.”
“Not for the next ten minutes.” I was about to argue when he added, “Going through three years of paperwork on an empty stomach isn’t going to end well.”
I reached to snatch the binder, but he slid it to his other hand and grinned at my murderous glare. Then my stomach chose the worst time to growl, and his smile widened.
He shoved a sandwich into my hands, snagged a bottle of water, and guided me toward a quiet area next to the loading docks.
“You’re withholding my paperwork.” I took a bite since arguing would take longer than eating.
“Finish the sandwich, and you’ll get back to the binder soon.”
When I was halfway done, I paused to ask, “If you’d already figured out the pattern was all shortages, why didn’t you answer for me?”
“You had it under control.” There was a serious gleam beneath the lingering humor in his dark eyes. “I was just backup.”
“Most men would’ve assumed they needed to speak for me.”
“They’d be wrong.” He shrugged. “You knew more about the records than anyone standing around that table. If someone refused to listen to you, I would’ve spoken up. Until then, you didn’t need me cutting you off.”
His answer was more perfect than I wanted to admit. Yet again.
When I finished eating, his thumb swiped along my lip, brushing away a crumb from the corner. My gaze slid down to his mouth, and he grinned.
“You keep looking at me like that, and this break is going to take longer than ten minutes,” he warned.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Mm-hmm.”
His hum called out my lie, and his smile widened.
So I leaned forward and kissed him to wipe the smugness off his face.
I’d only meant it to be a quick touch of my lips against his, but then he cupped the back of my neck and drew me closer.
The kiss quickly turned hot enough to make me forget the warehouse beyond the loading area, but he stopped before I did something ridiculous like climb onto his lap.
Pulling back, he pressed the water back into my hand. “Finish.”
“Kissing does not make you less bossy,” I grumbled.
“I was hoping it would make you more cooperative.”
I ignored his grin this time and didn’t mention that he’d been right about me needing to eat. I was more focused when we returned to the table covered in paperwork.
With a clearer head, I arranged the altered reports chronologically.
The discrepancies began small and increased gradually over time.
Most of them belonged to jobs I supervised.
And looking at them in this order, I realized the largest differences appeared in the months after I began pushing for a two-person approval system.
“Someone picked my jobs because they thought I’d be easy to blame.”
The warmth bled from his dark eyes. “They miscalculated.”
Before I could open the next box of older reconciliation reports, the warehouse alarms blared, and warning lights flashed above our heads. Someone yelled at the far end of the warehouse. “Smoke!”
Jumping to my feet, I knocked the binder on the floor as I ran to the doorway to see what was happening. Employees were running away from the records room. One of them shouted, “Someone might still be in there!”
Instinct took over before caution had time to catch up, and I ran toward danger instead of away from it.