“The container came in under Gulf Meridian Imports,” the CBP agent says, tapping the screen. “U.S.-registered out of Baton Rouge is the importer of record. On paper, it’s a routine electronics shipment coming in from Shenzhen. Low-risk classification.”
Vin’s gaze stays on the river. Mine stays on the numbers.
“Stone Intermodal was slated to handle the port-side logistics,” the agent continues. “Once the container cleared customs, it would’ve moved inland under your contracts.”
“That’s right,” I say.
By the time I got Wells's intel and found out what was inside the container, it was already days from shore. Stopping it at sea would’ve set off alarms I couldn’t control.
Ports are different. They run on paperwork, timing, and patience. Those are the things I can manage.
“Walk us through why Stone Intermodal flagged the container,” the DEA agent says. “It had already cleared initial screening.”
“It cleared on paperwork,” I say. “Not on weight.”
The CBP agent looks up from his tablet. “Be specific.”
“The bill of lading listed electronic components,” I say. “Server parts. Circuit assemblies. That category has a tight weight range per pallet. This container came in several thousand pounds over what it should’ve been for the declared volume.”
“How far over?” the agent asks.
“Enough to notice,” I reply. “Not enough to trigger anautomatic stop by itself. But enough that it didn’t make sense if the cargo was what the paperwork claimed.”
The CBP agent nods slightly. “Electronics don’t gain weight.”
“No,” I agree. “They’re consistent. When an electronics container shows up heavy, it usually means one of two things. Either the shipment was misdeclared, or it’s carrying something the paperwork doesn’t account for.”
The DEA agent leans back slightly. “And that justified escalation?”
“It justified a closer look,” I say. “Especially given how fast it moved through origin and transfer ports. High-priority clearance with a declared electronics load moving that fast is a known concealment pattern.”
“So you routed it into secondary inspection,” he says.
“That's right,” I reply. “I flagged it internally and pushed it to Homeland Security for a full physical inspection. At that point, it was out of my hands.”
Which is true. I didn’t intercept it. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t move it myself. I made sure it landed in front of people who would open it.
“You audit every shipment,” the CBP agent says.
“We monitor patterns of everything that comes in and out of this port,” I correct. “So I guess you could call that an audit. And in that sense, yes, we do.”
I don’t elaborate. I don’t need to.
The DEA agent flips to a new page in his folder.
“Let’s talk about Gulf Meridian,” he says.
I don’t move. “What about them?”
“They’re the importer of record on the container,” he says. “We know they’re not a major logistics player, a relatively smaller operation compared to other importer/exporters you work with. They are out of Baton Rouge, itsays here. They import electronics out of Southeast Asia. Nothing that would normally draw our attention.”
“That tracks,” I say. “We’ve done limited business with them over the years. They weren’t moving significant volume through us, but we did consistently process a few a quarter.”
“Who runs it?” the agent asks.
I already know where this is going. And they already know the answer. They're testing me. That doesn’t stop the muscle in my jaw from tightening anyway.
“Alton Duvall,” I say. “Family operation, as far as I know.”
