Chapter 3 - ROW THIRTY-NINE
Raphael did not pull the gun completely from his coat.
Margot only saw the grip.
That was enough.
“Behind me.”
She obeyed.
No argument.
A shadow moved beyond row thirty-eight.
Raphael called:
“Warehouse security.”
No answer.
Then the emergency exit slammed.
Footsteps disappeared.
Raphael walked forward.
Margot caught his sleeve.
He stopped.
“The north door sticks.”
He looked at her.
“In snow?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“If they went out that way, they didn’t leave cleanly.”
Raphael understood immediately.
He called security.
“Seal the lot.”
Then another number.
“Marco, where are you?”
“Six minutes.”
“Make it four.”
He hung up.
Margot said:
“You can’t make traffic move faster.”
Raphael looked at her.
“You’d be surprised.”
They reached row thirty-nine.
The light was dead.
Raphael used his phone flashlight.
Margot’s stomach dropped.
Boxes had moved.
Not many.
Enough.
She pointed.
“That one wasn’t there.”
“How do you know?”
“39-22-4 should be third shelf.”
“It’s on the floor.”
Raphael looked at her.
Then at the displaced carton.
“What’s in it?”
Margot checked the notebook.
“Employee benefits.”
“2005 through 2007.”
“Anything special?”
“No.”
Then she saw another box.
“Wait.”
39-22-7.
Also moved.
Margot flipped pages.
“Vendor termination files.”
Raphael crouched.
Opened it.
Empty.
His face hardened.
“Was it empty before?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I logged weight.”
He looked up.
“You logged weight?”
“Approximate.”
“Why?”
“Water damage.”
“If boxes got lighter later, pages were missing.”
Raphael stared at her for a second.
Then:
“You are wasted on secretarial work.”
Margot almost laughed.
Not the moment.
Headlights flashed through warehouse windows.
Marco arrived with Luca Marino, chief financial officer of Santoro Holdings, and two security men.
Marco DeLuca was perhaps fifty.
Gray at the temples.
Calm eyes.
He looked from Raphael to Margot to the open box.
“Problem?”
Raphael answered:
“Someone removed records.”
Marco’s eyes sharpened.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Who knew you were here?”
“No one.”
Margot swallowed.
“I did.”
Everyone looked at her.
She immediately regretted speaking.
Raphael didn’t.
“Margot has been sleeping here.”
Silence.
Marco stared.
Luca stared.
The security men tried not to.
Raphael added:
“We’ll address that later.”
Margot wanted the floor to open.
Instead Luca Marino asked:
“Which records?”
“Vendor termination.”
“Years?”
“2005 to 2007.”
Luca frowned.
“Why would anyone care?”
Raphael handed him North Harbor Freight invoices.
Luca’s face changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Row thirty-one.”
“Who found it?”
Raphael looked at Margot.
“She did.”
Luca scanned the handwritten notation.
“E.E.”
“Evelyn Ellery.”
Luca’s eyes lifted.
“I remember her.”
Margot froze.
“You knew my mother?”
He looked surprised.
“Evelyn was one of the best bookkeepers we had.”
Something broke open in Margot’s chest.
For months, she had heard only accusations around her mother.
Suspicion.
Missing money.
Now someone remembered her as good at something.
“What happened when she left?”
Margot asked.
Luca looked at Raphael.
Then:
“She resigned.”
“No.”
Margot shook her head.
“She told me she was laid off.”
Luca frowned.
“I signed her exit paperwork.”
“Voluntary.”
Raphael looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she leave?”
Luca hesitated.
“She had a dispute with Elliot Vance.”
There it was.
“What kind?”
“Vendor controls.”
“Evelyn thought several old companies were receiving payments without active contracts.”
Margot felt cold.
“North Harbor?”
“I don’t remember names.”
“Elliot said she was overstepping.”
“Your father agreed.”
Raphael’s face hardened.
“My father fired her?”
Luca shook his head.
“Not officially.”
“But she understood staying would be difficult.”
Margot whispered:
“So she quit because she found something.”
“Maybe.”
Luca looked uncomfortable.
“I was junior finance then.”
“I didn’t push.”
Raphael stared.
“You’ve had fifteen years to mention this.”
Luca’s face tightened.
“Mention what?”
“That a bookkeeper flagged ghost vendors under my father.”
“Your father had dozens.”
“We cleaned them out after he died.”
“Apparently not.”
Silence.
Marco stepped in.
“Who has access tonight?”
Security provided logs.
Six people.
Night guard.
Custodian.
Two loading supervisors.
Margot.
And one executive credential.
Raphael looked at the sheet.
“Whose?”
Security man hesitated.
“Ms. Carver.”
Margot’s supervisor.
Her stomach dropped.
“Why would Ms. Carver come here?”
Raphael looked at her.
“Tell me about her.”
“Human resources administrator.”
“Contract staffing.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
“Relationship to Vance?”
Margot froze.
“I don’t know.”
Then remembered.
A holiday lunch.
Carver talking about her uncle.
An accountant.
Elliot?
No.
Could be coincidence.
“Her maiden name is Vance.”
Luca looked up sharply.
“What?”
Margot’s heartbeat accelerated.
“Her full name is Cynthia Carver.”
“But once she complained payroll had her old emergency file under Cynthia Vance.”
Raphael’s face went cold.
“Elliot’s daughter?”
Marco already had his phone out.
Thirty seconds later:
“Yes.”
Margot stared.
Her supervisor—the woman who cut her hours—was Elliot Vance’s daughter.
A horrible thought formed.
“She knew who I was.”
Raphael turned.
“What?”
“When she hired me.”
“Did you apply?”
“Yes.”
“Normal agency?”
“Yes.”
“But Ms. Carver interviewed me personally.”
“For a twice-weekly temporary secretary role?”
Margot nodded.
Raphael looked at Marco.
“That normal?”
“No.”
Margot thought back.
Cynthia asking about her mother.
Casually.
Ellery. Any relation to Evelyn?
Margot had answered yes.
Cynthia smiled.
Small city.
Then hired her immediately.
Margot’s skin prickled.
“Why hire me if she thought I had something?”
Raphael said:
“To watch you.”
Marco added:
“Or find out what Evelyn told you.”
Margot felt sick.
Raphael asked:
“Did Carver ever ask about your mother?”
“Once.”
“Only once?”
“She asked whether Mom kept old work papers.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Was that true?”
Margot hesitated.
“No.”
Everyone stared.
“What do you have?”
“One box.”
“Where?”
“My storage unit.”
Raphael’s voice sharpened.
“Which storage company?”
Margot told him.
Marco immediately walked away to call someone.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking whether it’s secure.”
“You can’t just—”
Raphael raised a hand.
“Only exterior security.”
“Your unit remains yours.”
That mattered.
He had noticed the line.
Margot nodded.
Then Marco returned.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Storage facility logs show access tonight.”
Margot’s blood went cold.
“No.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Your code?”
“Yes.”
Her legs weakened.
Raphael caught her elbow.
She pulled away instinctively.
He released immediately.
Good.
“How would they have my code?”
Margot whispered.
Then she knew.
“My emergency-contact form.”
Everyone looked at her.
“When I started.”
“I wrote down where I kept my belongings because I didn’t have a permanent address.”
Cynthia had access to employee files.
Raphael’s jaw tightened.
“Go.”
They drove there together.
Not black-SUV theatrics.
Two vehicles.
Police were not called yet because nobody knew whether theft occurred.
Margot insisted on opening the unit herself.
The lock was intact.
Inside—
disaster.
Boxes open.
Clothes thrown.
Her mother’s dishes shattered.
Photographs on the floor.
Margot stopped at the threshold.
“My God.”
Raphael stood behind her.
Did not enter.
“May I?”
She nodded.
He walked in.
Margot went to the back.
Her mother’s banker box.
Gone.
She turned.
“It’s not here.”
“What was inside?”
“Tax returns.”
“Old check registers.”
“Letters.”
“Anything from Santoro?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she remembered.
A blue envelope.
Mom once told her:
If anything happens to me, don’t throw this away just because it looks boring.
Margot had never opened it.
She had been too busy with hospice.
Then funeral.
Then eviction.
“An envelope.”
“What?”
“Blue.”
“Mom told me to keep it.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Raphael stared.
“You never opened it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She told me not to unless someone came asking about Santoro.”
Silence.
Marco looked at Raphael.
Raphael looked at Margot.
“Someone came asking.”
Her hands started shaking.
Then a noise came from outside.
A car engine.
Marco moved toward the door.
Too late.
A sedan accelerated out of the parking lot.
Security camera caught the plate.
Registered to Cynthia Carver.
Now it was no longer theory.
Margot’s supervisor had been inside her storage unit.
Possibly inside the warehouse.
Possibly cutting her hours.
Possibly watching her since hiring.
Margot sank onto a plastic crate.
Raphael crouched across from her.
“What exactly did your mother say about the envelope?”
Margot closed her eyes.
She could hear Evelyn.
Tired.
Chemotherapy scarf around her head.
Margo, if anybody from Santoro ever asks about the old vendor books, tell them I kept copies because I didn’t trust Elliot.
Margot’s eyes opened.
“She said she kept copies.”
Raphael didn’t move.
“Copies of what?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she remembered the second sentence.
“She said one man in that family would someday need proof that his father had lied to him.”
Raphael went completely still.
Everyone in the unit did.
May you like
Margot whispered:
“I think she meant you.”
