Chapter 6 - The Warehouse Nobody Mentioned
Westfield Recovery Services was real.
That almost made it worse.
It had a license.
A warehouse.
Tax filings.
A website full of smiling stock photos and promises about "sustainable inventory recovery."
Trevor's wife, Allison Dane, was listed as president.
Richard stared at the registration on Erica's laptop.
"I didn't know."
I believed him.
That did not mean he was innocent.
Dana found vendor payments from Harrison to Westfield.
Richard had approved the vendor list electronically.
He had never opened the ownership documents.
"Trevor said they were the best bidder," he said.
Erica looked at him.
"You keep saying other people's names as if they signed for you."
Richard stopped.
I said nothing.
I had my own signature problem.
Dana pulled monthly salvage reconciliations.
My name appeared on them.
EMILY CARTER - OPERATIONS REVIEW.
I felt sick.
"I signed these."
Richard looked at me.
"See?"
The word came out too quickly.
I turned on him.
"Don't."
He shut his mouth.
I remembered the forms.
End of month.
Richard dropping stacks of paper on my desk.
"Need these before noon."
I checked totals against the cover sheet.
I did not request every attachment.
I signed.
That was mine.
Not theft.
Not nothing.
"I should have read the supporting pages," I said.
Richard looked surprised.
"You were told the supporting documents were archived."
"And I accepted that."
Erica said, "Emily, don't absorb somebody else's fraud because you missed a control."
"I'm not. I'm naming my part."
That was different.
We reconstructed thirteen suspicious liquidation events.
Seven involved Northstar.
Six involved other customers.
The goods were reclassified as damaged or abandoned, moved into Salvage Reserve, then sold through Westfield.
No cinematic vault.
No hacker in a dark room.
Just ordinary forms moving through people who were too busy, too trusting, too afraid, or too rewarded to ask the next question.
Then Dana found an email from Trevor to Richard.
SUBJECT: RESERVE INVENTORY.
Trevor: Need permission to accelerate two lots. Quarter is tight.
Richard: Do what you need to do. Don't drag me into warehouse detail.
Richard read it twice.
"I meant damaged lots."
Erica answered, "Maybe."
That word terrified him.
Then Ruben Salazar called me.
"Emily, I remembered something about this morning."
"What?"
"Trevor didn't just hand us paper. He was on the phone when he did it."
"With who?"
"I don't know. But I recorded part of it on my dash camera because the cab mic picked him up through the open door."
My pulse jumped.
"What did he say?"
Ruben hesitated.
"He said, 'Emily's gone. Use her until midnight.'"
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