Eight cases of oil.

Six cases of sugar.

Everything appeared normal.

Then I remembered something.

When deliveries arrived, Raul usually counted the products before Marcos entered the numbers.

I looked at Raul.

“Tomorrow morning, nobody receives the delivery except me.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Victor, I always handle receiving.”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m checking it myself.”

He stared at me.

For the first time that evening, I saw something on his face that I had mistakenly expected to see on Teresa’s.

Fear.

I Counted Every Box Myself

I barely slept.

Not because of the missing inventory.

Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Teresa kneeling beside that suitcase while six people watched.

At 5:10 the next morning, I was already at the bakery.

Raul arrived twenty minutes later.

“You’re early.”

“So are you.”

He didn’t respond.

The delivery truck arrived at 6:15.

I went outside with a clipboard.

The driver looked surprised.

“Where’s Raul?”

“Inside.”

“He usually checks me in.”

“I’m doing it today.”

I took the invoice from him.

Then I counted.

Every bag.

Every case.

Every box.

The invoice listed thirty bags of bread flour.

There were twenty-four.

It listed ten containers of cooking oil.

There were eight.

I counted again.

Same result.

The driver shifted his weight.

“Something wrong?”

I held up the invoice.

“Six bags of flour and two containers of oil are missing.”

He looked toward the truck.

“Maybe they weren’t loaded.”

“Then why are they on the invoice?”

He didn’t answer.

I went inside.

Raul was standing near the storage room.

When he saw my face, he stopped moving.

I placed the invoice on the prep table.

“Come here.”

He walked over slowly.

I tapped the quantities.

“Thirty bags.”

He nodded.

“There are twenty-four.”

Silence.

“Ten containers of oil.”

Nothing.

“There are eight.”

Raul looked toward the back door.

“Maybe they messed up the load.”

“That’s what the driver said.”

He exhaled.

“Then that’s probably what happened.”

I pulled out my phone.

“Good. Then I’ll call the supplier and ask them to send me their original dispatch records for every delivery we’ve received during the last two months.”

Raul’s face changed.

It was small.

A tightening around his mouth.

But I saw it.

“You don’t need to do all that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s probably just one mistake.”

I looked at the invoice between us.

“I’ve been missing inventory for two months.”

He said nothing.

“And last night I accused the wrong person because I didn’t bother checking the obvious thing first.”

I slid the invoice toward him.

“I’m checking now.”

Raul sat down.

He put both hands flat on the table.

“Victor.”

I waited.

“Don’t call them yet.”

“Why?”

His eyes stayed on the invoice.

“Because there’s something I need to tell you.”

The Man Who Was Supposed to Protect My Inventory

Raul kept both hands on the prep table.

“Don’t call them yet.”

I put my phone down, but I didn’t sit.

“Why?”

He stared at the invoice.

“Because the supplier isn’t going to tell you it was a loading mistake.”

The bakery was beginning to wake up around us. A mixer started in the front kitchen. Metal trays knocked against a rack.

I closed the office door.

“Then tell me what they’re going to say.”

Raul rubbed his palms against his jeans.

“The full order left their warehouse.”

I waited.

“And?”

“Some of it didn’t make it here.”

“Where did it go?”

He looked at me.

That was enough.

“How long?”

“Victor—”

“How long?”

“About two months.”

Almost exactly when I’d started noticing the shortages.

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

“Start talking.”

Raul told me the arrangement had begun with the delivery driver.

The driver knew several small restaurants and food trucks that bought supplies for cash. The idea was simple. A few bags of flour disappeared before a delivery reached my bakery. Maybe a case of sugar. Maybe oil.

Nothing large enough to make an entire shipment look suspicious.

The original invoice still showed the full amount.

The missing products were sold elsewhere.

Raul received cash for making sure nobody at Golden Hive questioned the numbers.

I stared at him.

“You were the person I asked to investigate the shortages.”

He looked down.

That part bothered me almost more than the money.

For weeks, every time I noticed something missing, I had gone directly to him.

And every time, he had given me an explanation.

Waste.

Busy weekends.

Packaging differences.

Employee mistakes.

I leaned back.

“How much?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Your share.”

“A few hundred.”

I waited.

“More than that.”

“How much more?”

He shook his head.

“I’d have to add it up.”

I picked up my phone again.

Raul leaned forward.

“Wait.”

“What?”

He looked toward the office door.

Then he lowered his voice.

“I wasn’t doing the paperwork.”

I stopped.

“What paperwork?”

“The numbers you saw.”

I looked at the invoices spread across my desk.

“Explain that.”

Raul swallowed.

“Somebody here was fixing the receiving reports before they got to you.”

For a second, I thought he was trying to save himself by dragging somebody else into it.

“Who?”

He didn’t answer.

“Raul.”

He finally looked at me.

“Marcos.”

The Numbers on My Desk Weren’t the Original Numbers

Marcos had worked for me for nearly five years.

He was forty-one, quiet, organized, and good with paperwork.

If I needed an invoice found from six months earlier, Marcos could usually put it on my desk within five minutes.

That reliability was exactly why I trusted him.

I called him into the office.

He walked in carrying coffee.

“What’s going on?”

I pointed to the chair beside Raul.

“Sit down.”

He looked at Raul first.

That glance lasted less than a second.

But I saw it.

Marcos remained standing.

“I’d rather know what this is about.”

I placed the morning invoice on the desk.

“The supplier says thirty bags of flour were delivered. Twenty-four arrived.”

“Then call the supplier.”

“I am.”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

Too easy.

I pulled several older receiving reports from a folder.

“Raul says the original invoices were being changed before I reviewed them.”

Marcos looked at him.

“Raul says a lot of things when he’s in trouble.”

Raul stood.

“Don’t do that.”

“Sit down,” I said.

Raul sat.

Marcos stayed by the door.

“Did you change these reports?”

“No.”

“Did you know inventory was being removed from deliveries?”

“No.”

“Did Raul ever give you money?”

His jaw tightened.

“No.”

I didn’t argue.

I called the supplier.

I asked for copies of the original delivery records from the previous eight weeks.