Chapter 4 - The Man Who Stole Her Work
Andrew knocked twice.
Nothing.
He waited.
A child's voice came from inside.
“Mom! Somebody's here!”
Footsteps.
Then Jenna Reed opened the door.
For the first time, Andrew saw her outside Harborline.
No carefully pressed office blouse.
No badge.
No dark skirt.
No corporate armor.
She wore cream lounge pants, a soft oversized sweater, and thick socks. Her curls fell loosely around her shoulders.
She looked tired.
She also looked peaceful.
Until she recognized him.
“No.”
Andrew had not spoken yet.
“Jenna—”
“No.”
She started closing the door.
Andrew put one hand against the frame.
Not the door.
He made sure of that.
“I need five minutes.”
“You had three years.”
“Then give me thirty seconds.”
She stared at him.
Behind her, Mason appeared holding Mr. Chomps.
“Mom, who's that?”
Andrew looked at the child.
Mason looked exactly like the photograph from Jenna's desk.
Two missing teeth.
Messy hair.
Dinosaur.
Jenna shifted instinctively between them.
Something about that movement bothered Andrew more than he expected.
“Someone from my old job,” she told Mason.
Mason frowned at Andrew.
“Did you fire my mom?”
Andrew said nothing.
Jenna closed her eyes.
“Mason.”
“I heard Grandma talking.”
Andrew had faced federal prosecutors with less discomfort.
“Yes,” he said.
Mason hugged the dinosaur.
“That was mean.”
“Yes.”
Jenna looked at Andrew.
That answer surprised her.
Mason considered him for a second.
Then announced, “You should say sorry.”
Andrew almost smiled.
Jenna did not.
“Go finish your dinosaur city.”
“But—”
“Mason.”
He left.
Slowly.
While staring over his shoulder like a suspicious security guard.
Jenna stepped onto the small landing and closed the apartment door behind her.
“You have thirty seconds.”
Andrew handed her a folder.
She didn't take it.
“Blake disappeared.”
Her expression changed.
Barely.
But Andrew saw it.
“We found payments to Magnolia Coast Warehousing.”
That changed it more.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Jenna stared at him.
“Seriously?”
Andrew accepted the hit.
“You're right.”
“That's becoming a habit today.”
“You were framed.”
“I knew that Thursday.”
“I know it now.”
“Congratulations.”
“Jenna.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You want me to rescue Harborline.”
“I want both.”
She folded her arms.
“No.”
“Fourteen million dollars.”
“I'm sorry?”
“That's what we've lost or put at risk in four days.”
She looked away for a second.
Andrew continued.
“I've had six senior managers trying to reconstruct processes you apparently designed.”
“Not apparently.”
“Fine. Designed.”
“And?”
“They can't.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
For the first time, amusement touched her face.
“Because they never bothered learning how any of it worked.”
Andrew nodded.
“Then come back.”
Her smile disappeared.
“No.”
“I'll double your salary.”
“No.”
“Triple.”
“No.”
“Director title.”
“No.”
“Vice president.”
She actually laughed.
“You think this is a negotiation.”
“Everything is.”
“That's your problem.”
Andrew's jaw tightened.
“Tell me what you want.”
“To not work for a company where being competent makes me useful but invisible.”
He had no answer.
“To not sit in another meeting while Logan Pierce reads my analysis off a slide and gets thanked for his insight.”
Andrew's face hardened.
“To not hear Blake Turner tell me I'm too emotional because I objected to falsifying a performance report.”
Andrew stared.
“Falsifying?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“What report?”
“The Brunswick warehouse efficiency numbers.”
Andrew remembered them.
They had influenced a major acquisition.
His stomach tightened.
“Do you have proof?”
Jenna's eyes flashed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You still need me to prove everything before you believe a word I say.”
“I'm investigating fraud.”
“You were investigating a $3.8 million loss Thursday morning.”
“And I made the wrong decision.”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of it cut deeper than anger.
Andrew looked down.
“I did.”
Jenna fell silent.
He had probably apologized fewer than twenty times in his adult life.
Most of those had been strategic.
This wasn't.
“I signed the termination without speaking to you.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn't have.”
“No.”
“I was wrong.”
The air changed.
Jenna stared at him.
Andrew Vaughn saying he had been wrong apparently carried more weight than the salary offers.
He continued.
“I built Harborline on the idea that competent people should be trusted to do their jobs. Somewhere along the way, I confused delegation with not looking.”
Jenna studied him.
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“It isn't.”
“That almost makes it worse.”
Andrew glanced toward the apartment window.
There were colorful paper stars taped inside.
A child's drawing of a cargo ship.
For some reason, he imagined Jenna coming home after twelve-hour days to help Mason color.
Something tightened in his chest.
“I can't undo Thursday,” he said.
“No.”
“But I can tell you exactly what I found.”
He opened the folder.
This time she took it.
Inside were copies of payments.
Vendor records.
Access logs.
Emails.
Jenna read silently.
Then stopped at one page.
“Where did you get this?”
“Recovered server archive.”
Her face lost color.
Andrew stepped closer.
“What?”
“This isn't just Harborline.”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed.
A vendor code appeared beside Magnolia Coast.
MCW-4417.
“I've seen this code linked to shipments that never touched our warehouses.”
“Where?”
“Emergency diversions.”
“How many?”
“At least twenty.”
“How much money?”
“I don't know.”
“Estimate.”
She looked up.
“Enough that somebody would want me fired.”
Andrew's expression turned cold.
“Blake?”
“Maybe.”
“Logan?”
“Maybe.”
“Who else?”
Jenna hesitated.
“Someone above Blake.”
Andrew went still.
“There is nobody above Blake except me and the board.”
“Exactly.”
Silence.
The possibility hung between them.
A board member.
Someone with enough authority to make fake vendors look legitimate.
Enough access to manipulate millions.
Enough knowledge of Vaughn family companies to resurrect Magnolia Coast.
Andrew thought of nine directors.
Six had been with Harborline more than a decade.
Three had known his father.
Two had known his uncle Vincent.
“Come with me,” Andrew said.
“No.”
“Jenna—”
“My son is inside.”
“I'll put security on him.”
Her eyes hardened.
“No.”
He immediately realized the mistake.
“I didn't mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant. You live in a world where ‘I'll put security on him’ sounds comforting.”
Andrew looked away.
Fair again.
Jenna handed the folder back.
“I'll review the records.”
“At Harborline?”
“Here.”
“We need access to internal systems.”
“Give me a clean laptop with read-only credentials.”
“You don't trust us.”
“I was fired four days ago for something I didn't do.”
Andrew nodded.
“Fair.”
She blinked.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep being right.”
“Careful. Someone might fire you.”
For the first time, Andrew laughed.
It surprised both of them.
Jenna looked away quickly.
Then the laughter vanished when Andrew noticed movement across the street.
Gray sedan.
Engine running.
Same car he remembered passing two blocks earlier.
His instincts sharpened.
“Go inside.”
Jenna frowned.
“What?”
“Now.”
His tone changed enough that she obeyed before arguing.
Andrew stepped down from the landing.
The sedan pulled away.
Fast.
Too fast.
He memorized the plate.
Partial.
Georgia.
7K—
Gone.
Jenna opened the door behind him.
“What happened?”
“Probably nothing.”
“Don't do that.”
“What?”
“Lie because you think it'll keep me calm.”
Andrew looked at her.
She was frightened.
But steady.
He chose differently.
“Someone was watching the building.”
Her face changed.
“Mason.”
“I'll handle it.”
“No.”
“Jenna—”
“If this involves me, I handle it too.”
Andrew stared at her.
There it was again.
The thing Harborline had spent three years trying to make smaller.
She wasn't loud.
She wasn't reckless.
She simply refused to disappear when other people wanted her to.
Andrew understood, suddenly, why Blake had been afraid of her.
Not because Jenna Reed was difficult.
Because she noticed things.
And once Jenna noticed something, she kept following the numbers until they told the truth.
Andrew's phone rang.
Security.
He answered.
“We found Logan Pierce,” the director said.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Jacksonville.”
Andrew looked at Jenna.
“He was trying to board a private charter.”
“Stop him.”
“We did.”
Andrew waited.
“But he wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
Another pause.
Then the answer.
“Your board chairman.”
Andrew said nothing.
Jenna watched his face.
“Who?” she whispered.
Andrew lowered the phone.
May you like
“My godfather.”
---
