Page 17 of Ghost

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.