“These may be two separate deliveries,” George said. “They got merged.”
“That would explain why the vendor insists everything was dropped off.”
“Maybe. We need to check.”
Janelle smiled. “Dave would have made a phone call, gotten angry, and then called them again.”
“We’ll save the anger for if the facts disappoint us.”
She laughed. Over the next two hours she taught him how to export the receipt history, track purchase-order changes, and search for a supplier account. In return, he showed her how he organized information on paper so he could find it under pressure. Neither had expected the other to have much to teach.
By midafternoon George had a rough picture of the missing concrete. The supplier had billed for twelve pallets because the purchase order showed twelve. Seven were delivered to Miller’s. Five had been allocated to an Oak Haven construction company whose job-site address resembled the store’s former warehouse. Somewhere along the chain, the final destination had changed without the invoice being split.
The difference was not a small amount. It represented enough material to make Paul uneasy about next month’s cash flow.
“We should call the supplier,” Janelle said.
George stared at the screen. He could hear his old instinct telling him to be careful: every error was somebody else’s chance to blame you. Instead he wrote down the relevant invoice numbers, the delivery dates, and the contact information.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “But you’re staying. I need somebody who knows how to change the system if they agree.”
“I can handle that.”
The vendor’s accounts clerk answered after eleven minutes on hold. She was polite, tired, and not especially interested in a story about a small hardware store that had misplaced a delivery.
“Our records show complete delivery,” she said.
“Your records show complete invoicing,” George answered. “Those aren’t the same thing. The driver’s location code on five pallets doesn’t match our address.”
“I need the delivery receipt to check.”
“I’ll email it.”
He did. There was a pause, followed by the sound of a keyboard.
“Well,” the clerk said finally, “that is unusual.”
George had been in enough difficult conversations to recognize an opening. He did not push for a confession or an apology. He asked what she could verify next.
She promised to check with dispatch and call before the end of the day. George thanked her, noted the time, and hung up.
“You didn’t yell once,” Janelle said.
“Would yelling help?”
“Dave thought so.”
“Did it?”
“Not really.”
George put the phone down. He glanced toward the open office door. A forklift passed carrying a pallet of paint buckets. The sound made something tighten in his chest. He had spent eight months doing that work. Now it belonged to somebody else, and he was surprised to find that letting go of it felt both humiliating and merciful.
Paul came in just before closing. George explained what they had found, careful to distinguish between what was certain and what was still a guess.
“You may have just saved us a fight with a company we can’t afford to lose,” Paul said.
“Depends what dispatch finds.”
“You’re going to be aggravatingly cautious in this job, aren’t you?”
“I can be reckless if you’d prefer.”
Paul glanced at the ice pack and raised one eyebrow.
George looked away. “Poor choice of words.”
For the first time that day, all three of them laughed.
When George drove home, the pain in his knee was still severe, but the shape of the day had changed. He had not carried anything heavier than a binder. He had solved part of a problem with patience, not strength. And he had earned his wages without pretending his body was something it wasn’t.
It seemed like a small accomplishment.
He did not yet know how much he needed it.
Chapter Fourteen: The Cost of Being Hurt
At five-thirty, George walked into the urgent-care clinic on the east side of town.
He had spent the afternoon trying to convince himself that the visit could wait until after the first full paycheck. Paul had ended that discussion by calling the clinic himself, explaining there had been an injury at work, and asking what documentation they needed. The fall on the loading dock had aggravated a serious existing condition; whether it qualified for any particular coverage would have to be determined through the normal process. For the moment, the priority was making sure the leg could safely bear weight.
Mrs. Moreno agreed to watch Sadie. She had made her displeasure known in an efficient manner.
“You should have been there yesterday,” she said. “Or Saturday night.”
“I had a busy Saturday.”
“I saw your busy Saturday on my niece’s phone.”
“Everybody saw Saturday.”
“Not everybody has to walk on that knee afterward.”
George did not argue. She was becoming difficult to argue with because she kept being right.
