Chapter 10
789 Words
Tom's warehouse was on the industrial side of town, a large facility that housed his manufacturing and distribution operations. He greeted me warmly when I arrived, looking a bit sheepish.
"I should warn you," he said as he led me to a small office. "Luca called me this morning."
My stomach dropped. "What did he want?"
"To tell me not to work with you. Said you were unstable, that you'd stolen company information before leaving."
I gritted my teeth. "That's a lie."
"I know," Tom said, surprising me. "Luca's been... different lately. Cutting corners, breaking promises. I was already thinking of taking my business elsewhere." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the job's still yours if you want it."
Relief washed over me. "Thank you, Tom. I really appreciate it."
"Don't thank me yet," he said with a wry smile, opening the office door. "Wait till you see the mess you're dealing with."
He wasn't kidding. The office was filled with stacks of paper, disorganized files, and an ancient computer system that looked like it belonged in a museum. But it was work, and it was mine.
Tom explained what he needed—a complete overhaul of his inventory tracking system, updated accounting procedures, and digital organization of years' worth of paper records. It was exactly the kind of project I excelled at, and I threw myself into it immediately.
I worked steadily through the afternoon, creating a plan of attack for the massive job ahead. Around 4 PM, I decided to familiarize myself with the warehouse layout to better understand the inventory flow. Tom was busy with a client, so I headed out onto the floor alone.
The warehouse was enormous, filled with shelves of products and materials. Workers moved about with forklifts and hand trucks, barely glancing my way as I walked through, making notes on my tablet.
I turned down a quieter aisle, still focused on my notes, when a hand grabbed my arm. I jumped, nearly dropping the tablet as I spun around.
A security guard stood there, his grip tight on my arm. "Ma'am, this area is restricted."
"I'm sorry," I said, confused. "I'm working with Tom Branson on reorganizing the inventory. I was just—"
"I need to see your ID," he interrupted, his expression stern.
I fumbled in my pocket for the temporary badge Tom had given me, holding it up. The guard studied it, then looked at me, his expression shifting subtly.
"Ms. Caldwell?"
"Yes..."
He released my arm immediately. "I apologize for the confusion. Please, continue your work."
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me staring after him in bewilderment. Something about the interaction felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on why.
I finished my survey of the warehouse and returned to the office, still mulling over the strange encounter. As I gathered my things to leave for the day, my new phone buzzed with a text.
How was your first day?
It was from a number I didn't recognize, but I knew immediately who it was.
Fine. How did you know I'd be working today?
The reply came quickly: I have my ways. Dinner tonight to celebrate?
I hesitated, then typed: Not tonight. Need to prepare for tomorrow.
Another time, then. Sleep well, Vivian.
I stared at the message, a nagging suspicion forming. The security guard's odd behavior, Dante's knowledge of my new job... it wasn't a coincidence.
As I left the warehouse, I scanned the parking lot carefully. Nothing seemed out of place, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I got into the car Dante had sent for me (despite my protests that I could take a cab) and directed the driver back to the apartment.
Once there, I paced the living room, trying to piece things together. Was Dante having me followed? Was the security guard one of his people? And if so, why?
I pulled out the business card Marcus had given me and dialed his number.
"Ms. Caldwell," he answered smoothly. "How can I assist you?"
"Is Dante having me watched?" I demanded, skipping the pleasantries.
A brief pause. "I believe Mr. Moretti is concerned for your safety."
"That's not an answer."
Another pause. "Perhaps this is a conversation you should have with Mr. Moretti directly."
"Fine. Where is he?"
"He's in a meeting at the moment, but I can arrange—"
"His office. Where is it?"
Marcus sighed. "Vanguard Tower, top floor. But Ms. Caldwell, I really think—"
I hung up, grabbing my purse and heading back out. I'd had enough of men making decisions about my life without my input. If Dante wanted to play games, he'd better be prepared to explain himself.
- Writer
