“Black how?”
“As in, nothing. Like someone pulled the SD or turned the unit off and on again.”
I went still. “Anything missing?”
“Inventory will tell you, but nothing obvious. I did find this.” She held up a strip of shipping labels, featuring my logo, my return address, the correct fonts, and even the unusual spacing hiccup on the city line that our printer had. Except these weren’t our labels. My stomach pulled tight in a way that had nothing to do with bruises.
“Where did you find those?”
“Under the front counter.”
Fake labels in my shop. Cameras dead six hours. Deadbolt not seated. Someone had been inside, and if they hadn’t taken anything, they’d left a message. We can.
“Ty!” I called, already moving. He rounded the corner at a jog, seventeen and all elbows, a strip of tape stuck to his hoodie. “Did you do a loop when you got here?”
“Yup. Dock, side, front. Nothing looked weird.” He squinted. “Uh, except the dumpster lid was up.”
“Animals?” Marnie asked.
“Or someone rooting,” I said. “Go through it, make sure there’s nothing in there that shouldn’t be. Wear gloves, please.” Ty nodded. He was a good kid; I counted on him for brute strength and his attention to detail. It didn’t matter what numbers I shouted at him, he’d remembered everyone and made sure the books were balanced at the end of every day. He was easy to have around, and this business thrived because of him.
“On it,” he said, already halfway to the back.
I headed for the office, Marnie on my heels. The security monitor sat in the corner, four squares. Back alley, clear. Warehouse floor, clear. Dock, clear. Entry, black screen, and a timestamp blinking zeroes. My skin crawled.
“We need a new system,” Marnie said, reading my mind. “One with redundant feeds and cloud backup. You keep saying, it’s a matter of time until something happens.”
“I know.” I pressed my fingertips to my temple. “I know.”
She hesitated, then veered into the practical. “Do you want me to start an inventory audit?”
“Full count on the high-value tack,” I said. “All sizes on the elastic breast collars. And pull every box you packed yesterday, we’ll open them and re-scan.”
“You think someone swapped something?”
“I think someone wants us to doubt everything.” My voice came out flatter than I meant. “Let’s not give them an easy win.”
Marnie nodded and slipped away, efficient as ever. I closed the office door and slumped into my chair. The ring on my finger glinted against the keyboard as I punched in codes. I clicked through logs. Midnight to six, gap. Six-oh-two, Marnie. Six-forty-one, Ty. Six-fifty-five, delivery bay camera hiccup, then back. No motion alerts. No anomalies flagged. Whoever had been here knew precisely where to slip the knife.
My phone vibrated.
Lexie: How sore are you? You’d better not be at the warehouse alone.
Me: With Marnie and Ty. I’m fine.
Lexie: If anything is even slightly off, call me. And don’t talk to anyone official without me.
Me: I’m not calling anyone. I text back quickly.
Lexie: That’s not a flex, it’s a liability. I’m swinging by later with coffee when court’s over.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t promise, either.
By nine, the place was doing what it did best. The label printer sang. Ty carted boxes like a one-man parade. Marniecalled out SKUs, and I pulled the correct sizes by muscle memory. The rhythm smoothed something raw in me.
“Uh, Kris?” Ty called from the hoodie pallet. “These feel light.”
“Light how?”
