I stand. Walk out to meet her instead of making her come to me. It shows I'm not intimidated, not hiding, not treating this as her invading my territory.
Even though that's exactly what this is.
"Agent Monroe." I stop a few feet away. Professional distance. "You're punctual."
"Habit." She doesn't offer her hand. Neither do I. We both understand that handshakes are social contracts, and we're not operating under social rules. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Didn't have much choice. Federal investigation doesn't pause for inconvenient scheduling."
"No. It doesn't." Her eyes track past me to the office. "I need to review your shipping records, cross-reference them with work orders and customer pickup logs."
"I know what you need." I gesture toward the office. "I've already pulled some records you should see. This way."
She follows me without comment. Her positioning tells me everything I need to know—keeps me in peripheral vision while scanning the office space. Looking for exits, evaluating sight lines, cataloging potential threats.
UC training. Comes from living in hostile environments where reading a room wrong gets you killed.
I understand because I've done the same thing in places where the stakes were considerably higher than a motorcycle shop in Oregon.
"Have a seat." I gesture to the chair across from my desk, then settle into my own chair. There's no point in looming. I know what I am.
Shelby sits, movements controlled. Her gaze goes to the laptop, the scattered financial records, the shipping manifests organized into neat stacks.
"You've been busy," she observes.
"Seemed prudent to review our records before you came this morning." I turn the laptop toward her. "Found something you should see."
Her expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. Evaluating whether this is genuine cooperation or sophisticated manipulation.
Smart woman. Makes her dangerous.
"Show me," she says.
I pull up the spreadsheet I compiled last night. "Several orders over the past months that don't track right. Custom parts purchased, paid for through what look like legitimate customer accounts. Shipped to convention centers across the Pacific Northwest. Work orders logged in our system showing builds or modifications completed."
My finger traces down the column of addresses. "Except when I cross-reference against pickup records, there's nothing. No follow-up appointments, no customer contact, no registration paperwork. The parts shipped out, but the bikes they supposedly went into don't exist."
Shelby leans forward, focus locked on the data. I watch her connect the pattern to her investigation.
"How long did it take you to find these?" she asks.
"Couple hours last night. Could be more if I dig deeper, but these are the ones that stood out immediately."
"Who has system access to create these orders?"
"Anyone working intake. Me, Tate Morrison who you met yesterday, our prospect when he covers the desk." I pause deliberately. "We've never been systematic about securityprotocols. But we don't run a regular business with employees cycling through. It's Brothers, people we trust. Small operation."
"Have you changed credentials recently?"
"Not systematically. I changed mine a few months back when I thought about it. Can't speak for everyone else." The truth. We've been sloppy. Didn't matter until it mattered. "The suspect pool is actually pretty small if it's internal. Which means either someone we trust is setting us up, or someone compromised our system from outside."
"And you need to figure out which," she says.
"Need to figure out how the orders are being created first. System might track who logs in, might not. Have to dig into the logs, see if there's a pattern we can trace." I lean back. "Priority is shutting down whatever vulnerability exists, then working backward to whoever's exploiting it."
Shelby makes notes on her phone. "These addresses. Convention centers in multiple cities. Someone knew the gun show schedule well enough to coordinate deliveries."
"Someone with knowledge of the circuit. The vendors, the timing, the logistics." I keep my voice level. "Someone running a professional operation using our shop as cover."
