Chapter 2: The Phone She Thought Was Gone
Curtis didn't ask another question until he was certain Isaiah could breathe normally again.
He placed his black phone face down on the packing table.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
“I'm not calling her.””
Isaiah loosened his grip on his father's sleeve.
“Promise?””
“I promise.””
Curtis pulled his chair closer.
“Now tell me about your phone.””
Isaiah looked toward the office again.
“It's in the little storage cabinet.””
“Why?””
“Renée took it.””
“When?””
“Last Friday.””
Curtis frowned.
“Why would she take your phone?””
“She said I was spending too much time on it. She said I needed to learn responsibility.””
“And what did she say when you asked for it back?””
“That I could have it after the vacation.””
Curtis leaned back.
Something about the explanation bothered him.
Renée had always been strict about screen time. Curtis had occasionally disagreed with her rules, but he'd never thought they were unreasonable.
However, taking a teenager's phone for an entire vacation seemed excessive.
Especially when Isaiah was apparently expected to work in the warehouse without supervision.
“Did she tell you not to contact me?””
Isaiah nodded.
“She said you were busy with the company and didn't need another problem.””
Curtis stared at him.
“I'm your father. You are never another problem.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
Isaiah looked down.
Curtis waited a few seconds.
“Show me where she put the phone.””
Isaiah stood carefully. His palms were bothering him, but he tried not to show it.
They crossed the warehouse together.
The storage cabinet stood near the back wall, beside several shelves containing shipping labels and spare equipment. Isaiah opened the lower compartment and moved a roll of packing tape.
Behind it was an old black smartphone.
Curtis recognized it immediately.
He had bought it for Isaiah the previous Christmas.
The screen was cracked near one corner, but it still had a protective case.
“Is it charged?””
“A little.””
Isaiah pressed the power button.
The screen lit up.
Several notifications appeared.
Then a message preview flashed across the top.
Curtis noticed the sender's name.
Renée.
Isaiah immediately turned the phone away.
“That's what I mean.””
Curtis didn't grab it.
“Can I see?””
Isaiah hesitated, then handed it over.
The message read:
Make sure all 186 orders are completed before Friday. Don't leave anything for the employees.
Curtis stared at the screen.
One hundred and eighty-six orders.
He scrolled slightly.
Another message appeared beneath it.
Your father doesn't need to know how much help you're giving us. He'll only make things complicated.
Curtis felt his stomach turn.
He looked at Isaiah.
“Did she send these to you?””
Isaiah nodded.
“She said I had to keep everything moving while she was gone.””
“Why didn't you show me?””
“She said you'd blame me if the business lost money.””
Curtis closed his eyes briefly.
His wife had somehow convinced his son that a fifteen-year-old was responsible for the financial health of a company.
“Isaiah, listen carefully. The business is my responsibility. Not yours.””
“But she said—”
“I don't care what she said. You don't have to run my company.””
Isaiah nodded, but he still looked frightened.
Curtis unlocked the phone.
“May I look through the messages?””
“Yeah.””
The conversation was longer than he expected.
Renée had sent instructions about packing schedules, delivery pickups, customer complaints, and inventory counts.
There were photographs of handwritten lists.
There were reminders about deadlines.
And there were messages that made Curtis's hands go cold.
If you finish early, start preparing Monday's shipments.
Don't sit around. There's always something to do.
Your dad thinks you're old enough to help. Don't embarrass him.
Then Curtis found a message from the previous evening.
If you tell Curtis I made you work, I'll tell him you damaged the inventory and cost the company thousands.
Curtis read it twice.
He looked at Isaiah.
“Did you damage anything?””
“No.””
“Did you lose merchandise?””
“No.””
“Then why would you believe her?””
Isaiah's eyes filled with tears.
“Because she said she'd show you pictures.””
Curtis frowned.
“What pictures?””
Isaiah took a breath.
“Some boxes were already damaged when I got here. She said she'd make it look like I dropped them.””
Curtis slowly lowered the phone.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Isaiah pointed toward the loading area.
“There's more.””
Curtis looked at him.
“What else?””
“She made me sign something.””
“What did you sign?””
“A paper saying I volunteered to help with the business.””
Curtis felt his pulse rise.
“Did you read it?””
“Not all of it.””
“Where is it?””
“In the office.””
Curtis started walking.
Isaiah caught his hand.
“Dad?””
Curtis stopped.
“What?””
“Don't take the papers out where the cameras can see.””
Curtis turned.
“Why?””
Isaiah looked directly at him.
“Because she checks the cameras from her phone.””
Curtis glanced up at the security camera above the office entrance.
Its little red indicator was blinking.
He had installed that system himself.
It covered the loading bay, the packing tables, and the warehouse doors. He'd given Renée access to the monitoring app because she managed daily operations.
Curtis had never considered that she might use it to watch his son.
He took out his phone and opened the security application.
The camera feed appeared.
He tapped the playback button.
The previous morning's footage loaded.
There was Isaiah, pushing a loaded cart across the warehouse.
Then another clip.
Isaiah lifting a heavy box.
Another.
Isaiah sealing packages while sitting on the concrete floor.
Curtis watched in silence.
At 11:42 a.m., the office door opened.
Renée wasn't in the building now, but the recording showed her from earlier in the week.
She walked into the warehouse holding a clipboard.
Isaiah approached her.
Even without sound, Curtis could see his son pointing toward the hand truck.
Renée shook her head.
She pointed at the box.
Then she pointed at Isaiah.
A moment later, she walked away while he lifted it.
Curtis stopped the recording.
His face had become expressionless.
That was how he looked when something was serious.
“Dad?””
Curtis turned off the screen.
“Let's get you some food.””
“But the paper—”
“We'll get it. First, you're eating.””
They left the warehouse and drove to a nearby diner.
Isaiah ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. Curtis ordered coffee and a burger he barely touched.
For the first time that afternoon, his son seemed relaxed.
He was telling Curtis about a school project when his phone vibrated.
Curtis glanced at the screen.
A notification from the company accounting system.
*Warehouse labor adjustment approved.*
He opened it.
The approval had been submitted that morning.
The amount was $4,800.
The description read:
Temporary labor reimbursement — family assistance.
Curtis frowned.
He had never approved that payment.
He tapped the transaction.
A second line appeared.
*Authorized by: Curtis Morgan.*
His stomach dropped.
He opened the approval details.
The digital authorization carried his name.
But the device ID belonged to Renée's tablet.
Curtis slowly placed his coffee cup on the table.
Isaiah noticed.
“What's wrong?””
Curtis turned the screen toward him.
“Have you ever seen this?””
Isaiah looked at the transaction.
His face changed.
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Renée showed me last week.””
“Why?””
“She said it was how she was paying me.””
Curtis stared at his son.
“Paying you?””
Isaiah nodded.
“She said I was supposed to get money for helping with the orders.””
“How much?””
“I don't know. She said it would go into an account.””
Curtis looked at the transaction again.
Four thousand eight hundred dollars.
His son had worked for days.
His wife had apparently processed a payment under his name.
And Curtis had never known about it.
He leaned forward.
“Isaiah, did you ever receive any money?””
The boy shook his head.
“No.””
Curtis's phone vibrated again.
This time, it was a message from the company accountant.
Curtis, I need you to confirm something before I release the next payment. Did you personally authorize the family labor arrangement?
Curtis stared at the message.
Then another notification appeared.
It was from the security application.
*REMOTE USER REQUESTED LIVE WAREHOUSE ACCESS.*
Curtis looked at Isaiah.
His son had gone completely still.
“Dad,” Isaiah whispered.
Curtis turned the screen toward him.
“Who has access to this camera?””
Isaiah looked at the notification.
May you like
Then he whispered the words Curtis hadn't expected to hear.
“She does.””
