ORDINARY LIES
MICHAEL
Morning light cut through the windows of my kitchen, painting everything gold and amber while I sorted through the last of Daniel's financial records. Three days of numbers. Three days of cross-referencing invoices with inventory reports, matching supply orders to delivery receipts, building a picture of how Callahan Lumber actually operated beneath the chaos of disorganized paperwork.
And the picture was... fine.
Better than fine, actually. The mill was profitable, well-managed, with expenses that tracked appropriately to revenue and inventory that matched what should have been on the floor. No skimming. No creative accounting. Just a business run by someone who understood operations but hated the administrative side of keeping records straight.
Daniel hadn't been stealing from himself. He'd just been drowning in paperwork he didn't know how to organize.
I stacked the ledgers into neat piles, made final notes on the summary I'd written, and tried not to think about the fact thatthis meant I had a reason to go back to the mill today. A reason to see Daniel. A reason to stand in that cramped office and feel whatever it was I'd been feeling since he'd put his hand on my shoulder three days ago.
The drive to Callahan Lumber took fifteen minutes through town.
I pulled into the mill's gravel lot and killed the engine. Sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, watching workers move through the morning routine on the other side of the bay doors.
My phone buzzed. Nate.
Nate
Good luck today. Text me after?
Michael
I typed back: Will do. Love you.
Nate
Love you too. And Dad? Try not to stare at Daniel's forearms too much. Evan says it's distracting for everyone.
Michael
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Nate
Sure you don't.
I shoved the phone in my pocket before he could say anything else and grabbed the box of organized files from the passenger seat.
Time to face the music.
Daniel's officelooked the same as it had three days ago. But Daniel himself looked different. Tired in a way that went deeper than missed sleep, shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before, a tension in his shoulders that suggested weight he wasn't talking about.
He looked up when I walked in, and something in his expression shifted. Eased.
“Michael.” My name in his voice. Warm and rough and doing things to my chest that I wasn't going to examine. “You came back.”
“Said I would.” I set the box on his desk, started unpacking the organized files. “Though I'm starting to think you have trust issues.”
“I'm an Alpha. Trust issues come with the territory.” But his mouth quirked, almost a smile. “What did you find?”
“Good news and bad news.” I spread the summary sheets across his desk, pointed to the relevant sections. “Good news: nobody's stealing from you. Your expenses track to your revenue, your inventory matches your records, and your profit margins are actually better than industry standard for a mill this size.”
“And the bad news?”
“Your filing system is a war crime. I've seen natural disasters with better organization.” I tapped a stack of invoices. “These were sorted by date, except for the ones sorted by vendor, except for the ones that weren't sorted at all and just shoved into whatever folder was closest. It's a miracle you haven't lost money just from not being able to find things.”
