Chapter 3: Someone Was Watching the Warehouse
Curtis didn't touch the camera notification.
He stared at the screen until it went dark.
Across the table, Isaiah had stopped eating.
The grilled cheese sandwich sat untouched on his plate. His milkshake had begun to melt, leaving a thin ring of chocolate around the glass.
“Dad?””
Curtis looked up.
“I'm here.””
“Is she watching us?””
“I don't know.””
Isaiah looked toward the diner window.
Curtis noticed his son's shoulders tightening.
He turned his phone off completely and placed it inside his jacket.
“Let's finish eating somewhere else.””
They left through the side entrance.
Curtis drove to a pharmacy and bought antiseptic wipes, bandages, and a pair of soft cotton gloves for Isaiah. Then he took him home.
The house felt unusually quiet.
Renée's decorative pillows were still arranged on the living room sofa. Her framed family photographs stood on the fireplace mantel.
In one photograph, Curtis stood beside Renée at a company anniversary party.
Madison and Tyler stood in front of them.
Isaiah was on the far end, partly hidden behind a large floral arrangement.
Curtis had never noticed that before.
He looked at the picture for several seconds.
Then he turned away.
“Go upstairs,” he told Isaiah.
“Take a shower. I'll bring you something to eat.””
“Are you going back to the warehouse?””
“Not without you.””
“Okay.””
Isaiah climbed the stairs slowly.
Curtis waited until he heard the bedroom door close.
Then he walked into his home office.
He opened his laptop and logged into the business management system.
The labor adjustment was still there.
He downloaded the authorization record.
The digital signature was identical to the one he used on company approvals.
But the device information showed that it had been submitted from a tablet registered to Renée.
Curtis leaned closer.
There were additional transactions.
One for $1,200.
Another for $2,600.
Another for $3,400.
All listed under family labor or temporary warehouse assistance.
All carried his authorization.
All had been submitted while he was away from the office.
He opened the accounting notes.
The descriptions were vague.
Additional packing support.
Inventory handling.
Seasonal family assistance.
Curtis rubbed his forehead.
He had never authorized any of it.
His phone vibrated.
The accountant, Denise, was calling.
He answered immediately.
“Denise.””
“Curtis, I'm glad you picked up.””
“What exactly are you trying to confirm?””
“Those labor payments.””
“I didn't authorize them.””
There was a pause.
“That's what I was afraid of.””
Curtis sat straighter.
“Explain.””
“Three payments were submitted this month. They were all marked as family assistance. I questioned the last one because the hours didn't match our warehouse records.””
“Who submitted them?””
“Renée.””
Curtis closed his eyes.
“Did she tell you I approved them?””
“She uploaded authorization documents with your signature.””
“It's not my signature.””
“I suspected that.””
“Why didn't you call me sooner?””
“I sent an email last week. Renée told me you were traveling and had approved everything verbally.””
Curtis looked at the documents on his laptop.
“Freeze the payments. All of them.””
“Already done.””
“Preserve every authorization record.””
“Curtis, is something wrong?””
He looked toward the staircase.
“My son has been working in the warehouse.””
Silence.
Then Denise asked, “Your son?””
“Fifteen years old.””
“Oh, Curtis.””
“I need every record related to those payments. Emails, uploads, device information, everything.””
“I'll prepare it.””
Curtis ended the call.
He sat quietly for a moment.
Then he opened the family calendar.
The vacation itinerary was still visible.
Renée had created the event three weeks earlier.
Four days at a beachfront resort in Florida.
Three guests.
Renée, Madison, and Tyler.
There was no mention of Isaiah.
Curtis remembered asking whether Isaiah wanted to come.
Renée had told him the boy preferred staying home because he wanted to spend time with friends.
Apparently, that had been another lie.
A noise came from upstairs.
Curtis closed the laptop and went to check on his son.
Isaiah was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a clean T-shirt and sweatpants.
His hands were wrapped in fresh bandages.
“Feeling better?””
“A little.””
Curtis sat beside him.
“I spoke to Denise.””
Isaiah looked nervous.
“Is she mad?””
“No. She's helping me understand some company payments.””
“Did I get her in trouble?””
Curtis turned toward him.
“No one is in trouble because you told the truth.””
Isaiah nodded.
Curtis glanced at the boy's hands.
“Can I ask you something?””
“Sure.””
“Did Renée ever ask you to do anything besides pack orders?””
Isaiah stared at the carpet.
“Sometimes she asked me to clean the warehouse.””
“Anything else?””
“Count inventory. Print labels. Take pictures of damaged products.””
“Did she ever ask you to sign documents?””
Isaiah hesitated.
“Once.””
“What document?””
“I don't remember the name.””
“Where did you sign it?””
“On the office computer.””
Curtis felt his stomach tighten.
“Was it a paper document or something on the screen?””
“On the screen.””
“Did you use your own account?””
Isaiah shook his head.
“She gave me a password.””
“What password?””
“I don't remember.””
Curtis nodded slowly.
“Did she tell you what you were signing?””
“She said it was just a record that I helped.””
“Did you read it?””
“Not really.””
Isaiah rubbed his bandaged palm against his knee.
“She said if I didn't sign, you'd have to pay the employees more money. She said the company was already losing money.””
Curtis stared at the wall.
He had never told Isaiah the company was struggling.
Because it wasn't.
Revenue was steady. Orders were increasing. The business had recently secured a new distribution contract.
Renée had been making financial decisions using information that did not belong to her.
And she'd been using their son to justify them.
Curtis stood.
“I'm going to need that phone again.””
Isaiah looked up.
“Why?””
“Because I want to preserve the messages.””
“Okay.””
Isaiah reached into his bedside drawer and handed it over.
Curtis sat at the small desk and opened the message application.
He found the conversation with Renée.
There were more messages than he'd seen earlier.
Some were instructions.
Others were warnings.
Then he noticed a conversation with an unfamiliar number.
The contact name was simply saved as *M.*
The most recent message had arrived two days earlier.
Did he finish the paperwork?
Renée's reply was visible beneath it.
Almost. He doesn't understand what he's signing, but he does what I tell him.
Curtis felt the room grow colder.
He opened the previous messages.
Once the records are submitted, Curtis won't be able to question the labor expenses.
Then:
Keep the boy away from the main office. He asks too many questions.
Curtis read that sentence again.
He turned toward Isaiah.
“Who is M.?””
Isaiah stared at the screen.
“I don't know.””
“Have you seen that number before?””
“I think so.””
“Where?””
Isaiah leaned closer.
Then his face went pale.
“Dad, that's the number that called the warehouse last Tuesday.””
“What happened?””
Isaiah swallowed.
“A man asked for Renée. When I told him she wasn't here, he asked if you were coming back soon.””
Curtis looked at the message again.
“Did you tell him anything?””
“No. I said I didn't know.””
“What did he say?””
Isaiah's voice dropped.
“He told me to keep doing what Renée asked.””
Curtis felt a chill move down his spine.
He scrolled farther back.
There was a photograph attached to the conversation.
It showed a document on a desk.
The heading was partially visible.
*EMPLOYEE COMPENSATION AND AUTHORIZATION AGREEMENT.*
Below it was Isaiah's name.
Curtis enlarged the image.
At the bottom was a digital signature.
His son's name.
But the document contained something else.
A paragraph stating that Isaiah had voluntarily agreed to provide warehouse services and that all compensation would be deposited into an account managed by his legal guardian.
Curtis stared at the account details.
It wasn't a savings account for Isaiah.
It was a business account he had never seen before.
He took a screenshot.
Then another message appeared.
This one was from the unfamiliar number.
The father is asking questions. Did you tell the boy what happens if he talks?
Curtis stopped breathing for a second.
He looked at the timestamp.
The message had arrived less than a minute earlier.
Someone was still communicating with Renée.
Someone knew Curtis was investigating.
And whoever it was seemed to know exactly what Isaiah had been forced to sign.
Curtis turned to his son.
“Isaiah, I need you to tell me something, and I need you to be completely honest.””
The boy nodded nervously.
“Did Renée ever tell you that if you showed me these messages, something bad would happen?””
Isaiah's lips trembled.
He looked at the bedroom door.
Then he whispered:
“She said you might lose the company.””
Curtis put the phone down.
“Why would she say that?””
Isaiah reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“I found this in the office printer yesterday. I wasn't supposed to see it.””
Curtis unfolded it.
It was a printed copy of an email.
The sender was an attorney whose name Curtis recognized from an old business dispute.
The subject line read:
*TRANSFER OF OWNERSHIP — FINAL DOCUMENTS.*
Curtis read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
His eyes stopped at the proposed transfer date.
Three days from now.
He looked at the bottom of the page.
There were two names listed under the proposed transaction.
Renée Morgan.
And someone else.
May you like
Someone Curtis had never expected to see involved in his company.
*The unfamiliar number belonged to his business partner.*
