Chapter 4 - The Missing Stock Clerk
Emma ran toward receiving.
“Mateo!”
The loading area behind the supermarket opened into a narrow alley lined with dumpsters and delivery bays. Rain blew sideways under the security lights.
Mateo was nowhere in sight.
Emma stepped outside.
“Mateo!”
A car engine roared at the far end of the alley.
She saw a gray sedan shoot onto the street, tires spraying water.
For one second, the passenger-side window was visible.
A hand slapped against the glass.
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“Call 911!” she shouted.
Eleanor was already doing it.
Corporate security arrived less than two minutes later in two black SUVs. The first man through the door was broad-shouldered, bald, and wearing a dark raincoat over a suit.
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
“Grant, a nineteen-year-old employee may have just been taken from the alley.”
Grant’s face changed instantly. “Description?”
Emma gave it to him, along with the sedan color and the partial plate she thought she had seen: 4K7.
Police reached the store moments later.
While officers searched nearby streets, firefighters cleared the office. The store remained closed, customers gone, checkout belts frozen under harsh fluorescent lights.
Emma sat on the edge of Register Six, soaked to the skin.
Eleanor placed a paper cup of coffee beside her.
“You did everything you could.”
“No, I didn’t. I should’ve listened to him weeks ago.”
“You didn’t know.”
“He asked me once if I thought inventory numbers could be faked. I thought he was worried about getting blamed for a counting mistake.”
Eleanor lowered her voice. “Guilt is useful only if it tells you what to do next.”
Emma looked at her. “And what do we do next?”
“We find him.”
Grant approached with a tablet.
“We pulled traffic camera data from the city feed. The sedan belongs to a shell company called Beacon Logistics.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds familiar.”
“It should. Beacon Logistics has a vendor contract with Whitmore Market Group.”
Emma sat up. “For what?”
“Food disposal and charitable transfer.”
The words landed like stones.
Grant swiped the screen.
“Here’s the bigger problem. Store 184 reported nearly four hundred thousand dollars in charitable food transfers over the last eighteen months.”
Emma shook her head. “That’s impossible. We barely send two pallets a week.”
“Exactly.”
Eleanor looked toward the burned office.
“Darren wasn’t stealing a few boxes.”
Grant nodded.
“And according to the vendor paperwork, every transfer was approved by someone at regional headquarters.”
“Who?” Eleanor asked.
Grant hesitated.
Then he turned the tablet around.
May you like
The approval name on the screen was one Eleanor knew very well.
Her own son.
