Chapter 3 - Four Days Without Jenna Reed
Friday morning began with a frozen rail transfer.
By lunch, Harborline had lost a seafood distributor.
At 3:40 p.m., a national retailer imposed late-delivery penalties across twenty-two loads.
Saturday brought a customs audit.
Sunday brought a warehouse staffing collapse in Charleston.
And by Monday morning, Harborline's projected four-day loss had crossed fourteen million dollars.
The number was almost insulting.
Fourteen million.
The same approximate figure Andrew's chief financial officer estimated Jenna's preventive work had saved Harborline over the previous eighteen months.
Andrew stood at his office window, staring at Savannah beneath gray clouds.
Four days.
That was all it had taken.
Not for Harborline to collapse.
Andrew had built too much redundancy for that.
But the machine was grinding differently.
Noisy.
Slow.
Expensive.
Problems that used to disappear before reaching senior leadership were now arriving in his inbox every hour.
Minor scheduling conflict.
Inventory mismatch.
Carrier discrepancy.
Missing temperature verification.
Fuel allocation anomaly.
Individually, nothing catastrophic.
Together, they revealed something Andrew had somehow missed.
Someone had been cleaning the gears.
That someone had been sitting forty-seven floors below him with a junior title.
“Come in,” he said.
Elena Ortiz entered.
She looked terrified.
Andrew had requested her personally.
She remained near the door.
“Sit.”
“I'd rather stand.”
Andrew studied her.
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because the last person who sat in this office after disagreeing with management lost her job.”
Fair.
Andrew leaned back.
“Were you close to Jenna?”
Elena hesitated.
“At work.”
“Did she ask you to give her anything Thursday?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
Elena's face changed.
There it was.
Andrew watched without blinking.
“What did you give her?”
“A printout.”
“Of?”
Elena stared at the floor.
Andrew could have intimidated her.
The old Vaughn men would have.
But he was suddenly tired of fear being the reason people told him things.
So he said, “You're not in trouble.”
She looked up.
“I've heard that before.”
“Then don't believe me. Just answer.”
Elena inhaled.
“An access log.”
“For the pharmaceutical shipment?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Jenna deserved to know she wasn't crazy.”
Andrew's expression tightened.
“Explain.”
Elena rubbed her palms against her trousers.
“Everybody knew she caught things.”
“Everybody?”
“Operations, yes.”
“Then why wasn't she promoted?”
Elena gave him a strange look.
It wasn't disrespect.
It was disbelief that he truly didn't know.
“Because Blake didn't want her promoted.”
“Why?”
“She made his managers look bad.”
“By doing her job?”
“By doing their jobs.”
Andrew looked away.
Elena continued carefully.
“Jenna built most of the exception tracking templates Logan uses.”
Andrew turned back.
“Uses?”
“Used.”
“He claimed he built those.”
“I know.”
“And Parker's port congestion model?”
“Jenna.”
“The temperature-risk matrix?”
“Jenna.”
“The driver-hour compression dashboard?”
“Jenna.”
Andrew stopped asking.
A memory surfaced.
Board meeting.
Three months earlier.
Blake presenting a reduction in failed transfers.
Logan receiving applause.
Andrew shaking Logan's hand.
Somewhere at the back of the conference room, a woman had been sitting beside the wall.
Curvy.
Dark curls.
Quiet.
Jenna.
He remembered her now because she had looked strangely unimpressed.
At the time, Andrew assumed she was bored.
Now he understood.
She had been watching someone else receive praise for her work.
“Why didn't she complain?”
Elena smiled sadly.
“She did.”
Andrew looked at her sharply.
“To whom?”
“Human Resources.”
“And?”
“Blake's brother-in-law is regional HR director.”
Andrew went motionless.
That detail he hadn't known.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
Andrew picked up the phone.
“Get Martin Kessler in my office.”
His assistant answered, “Yes, sir.”
“And suspend his system access before you tell him why.”
He hung up.
Elena stared.
Andrew looked at her.
“What else?”
“That's all I know.”
It wasn't.
He could tell.
“What else?”
Elena's eyes watered.
“I have a mortgage.”
“So did Jenna.”
“That isn't fair.”
“No. It isn't.”
The words came out before Andrew considered them.
Elena looked surprised.
So was he.
Finally she whispered, “Jenna thought someone was manipulating Harborline's vendor contracts.”
Andrew's attention sharpened.
“What kind of manipulation?”
“Small increases. Spread across hundreds of invoices. Fuel surcharges. Emergency handling. Temporary storage.”
“Fraud?”
“She wasn't sure.”
“Did she tell Blake?”
“Yes.”
Andrew almost laughed.
Of course she did.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
One week before the pharmaceutical failure.
Nine days before Jenna's termination.
The timeline aligned too neatly.
Andrew stood.
“Who else knew?”
“Logan.”
“Parker?”
“I don't think so.”
He watched her carefully.
Elena added, “Jenna said the money wasn't the strangest part.”
“What was?”
“The vendor names.”
Andrew waited.
“She recognized one.”
“Which?”
“Magnolia Coast Warehousing.”
Andrew felt something cold move through him.
Magnolia Coast Warehousing had belonged to his uncle Vincent.
Had.
The company supposedly ceased operations seven years ago.
Vincent Vaughn had died three years earlier.
Yet Harborline had paid Magnolia Coast more than six million dollars over the last twenty months.
Andrew walked to his desk.
“Leave.”
Elena hesitated.
“Am I fired?”
“No.”
“Suspended?”
“No.”
She looked genuinely confused.
“Then what happens?”
“You go back downstairs and do your job.”
“And Blake?”
Andrew's eyes cooled.
“I'll handle Blake.”
She walked toward the door.
“Elena.”
She turned.
“Thank you.”
Her expression softened for just a moment.
Then she left.
By Monday afternoon, Andrew knew three things.
Jenna had been framed.
Someone inside Harborline had been stealing money.
And Blake Turner had been involved in covering up both.
There was only one problem.
Blake was gone.
At 12:16 p.m., his executive assistant discovered his office empty.
His laptop remained on the desk.
His corporate phone remained in a drawer.
His personal car was missing from the garage.
Security footage showed him leaving at 10:07 through the west exit.
Andrew ordered his security team to locate him.
Then he did something he rarely did.
He drove himself.
No driver.
No escort.
No armored SUV.
Just a black sedan through the damp Savannah streets.
He had Jenna's address from HR.
He told himself he was going because of the fraud investigation.
He needed her files.
Her knowledge.
Her testimony.
That was all.
Then he reached the apartment building.
A modest brick complex on a tree-lined street.
Nothing extravagant.
A bicycle leaned against the railing.
Children's chalk drawings covered part of the sidewalk.
Andrew sat behind the wheel for almost five minutes.
He had spent his entire adult life making people come to him.
Employees.
Bankers.
Politicians.
Enemies.
Now he was about to knock on the door of a woman he had fired four days earlier and ask her for help.
His phone buzzed.
Chief financial officer.
He declined the call.
Then another message appeared.
Emergency: Charleston client threatening immediate cancellation.
Andrew stared at it.
Four days.
He opened the car door.
Across the courtyard, an upstairs curtain moved.
Andrew didn't notice.
A man inside a parked gray sedan did.
The man lifted his phone.
Took a photograph of Andrew.
Then sent it to an unknown number with four words:
May you like
He found the woman.
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