Manager on Duty Chapter Eight: Lunchroom Prophet

← Previous Chapter | ToC | Next Chapter →

Bobby stood in front of the open lunchroom refrigerator with both hands raised, as though submitting to the police.

“I labelled it this time.”

Alex looked up from their yoghurt. Today they wore a fitted charcoal shirt beneath their safety vest, silver rings on three fingers, and enough eyeliner to suggest the afternoon had personally offended them.

“You wrote ‘Bobby’ on the bag,” they said.

“That is a label.”

“That is barely identification.”

“There’s only one Bobby.”

Morgan entered behind Gareth. “One too many some days.”

Bobby pointed into the refrigerator. “Turkey. Provolone. Roasted peppers. Angie made it.”

Morgan stopped.

“Angie made it?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is serious.”

“Thank you.”

Gareth sat across from Alex and opened his lunch. He had been quieter than usual since arriving. Victoria had sent nothing privately all morning. No instruction. No request upstairs. Only the warehouse-wide message about Bay Six and the investigation.

That was what he had wanted.

Daylight. Documentation. Shared risk.

Apparently, wanting something did not prevent it from feeling like absence.

Alex watched him unwrap his sandwich.

“You look disappointed.”

“I’m eating lunch.”

“You can do two things.”

“I’m not disappointed.”

Alex nodded. “Ah. Then you’re practising restraint.”

Gareth looked at them.

“Careful,” Morgan said.

“I am being careful.”

Morgan took the chair at the end of the table. “That’s usually when you become dangerous.”

Bobby continued searching the refrigerator. He moved three containers, a bottle of hot sauce, and something wrapped in foil that everyone silently agreed not to identify.

“People steal lunches because they think no one important is listening,” he said.

Alex frowned. “That sentence took a hard left.”

Bobby closed the refrigerator. “People talk around me.”

“Because you’re approachable?” Gareth asked.

“Because they think I don’t understand anything.”

Morgan’s expression changed.

Bobby shrugged. “Works out. You hear all kinds of stuff when people decide you’re furniture.”

“What kind of stuff?” Morgan asked.

He looked at her. “Warehouse stuff.”

“Bobby.”

His shoulders dropped. “Fine. Yesterday, two Inventory guys were talking near the vending machines. One of them said they needed to move something before Kavanagh saw it.”

The lunchroom went quiet. Gareth lowered his sandwich.

“What did the other one say?” Morgan asked.

Bobby thought about it. “That she already signed for it.”

Morgan leaned forward. “Exact words.”

“I don’t know. Something like, ‘Kavanagh cleared it, just move the bastard before she sees where they left it.’”

“That does not make sense,” Gareth said.

“I know. That’s why I remembered. Usually lies try harder.”

Morgan stood. “Who were they?”

“No idea.”

“You work with them.”

“I work near everyone. It’s my gift.”

“One of them have a beard?”

“Half the warehouse has a beard.”

“Uniform? Department colour? Badge?”

Bobby’s face tightened as he searched his memory. “One had an inventory vest. The other wore a contractor badge.”

Morgan took out her radio. “Security, this is Reed. I need Bay Six checked immediately.”

Static answered. Then the warehouse alarm sounded. The dock alarm. Morgan was already moving before the first pulse finished. Gareth followed her out of the lunchroom. Alex came behind him, while Bobby remained beside the refrigerator for one stunned second before grabbing his clipboard.

“Should I stay here?”

“No,” Morgan shouted.

“Great. Love decisive leadership.”

They crossed Receiving at a run. Bay Six’s warning light flashed red above the control panel. The door itself remained closed, but the manual override case hung open. Its replacement seal lay broken on the concrete.

Again.

Luis stood ten feet away with his forklift idling.

“I didn’t touch it,” he said immediately.

“Shut the lift down,” Morgan ordered.

Gareth reached the panel. The alarm log rolled across its narrow screen. Override access: 12:21. User authorization: VKAVANAGH. His stomach dropped.

Morgan read it over his shoulder. “Victoria is upstairs.”

The alarm stopped. The silence afterward felt larger than the sound.

Alex pointed toward the quarantine lane. “Was that there before lunch?”

A pallet sat behind the yellow barrier. Black shrink wrap covered it from base to top. No product showed through. A white receiving label had been fixed to the front, clean and perfectly centred. Gareth approached without crossing the barrier.

“Don’t touch it,” Morgan said.

“I’m not.”

He crouched and read the label. The pallet identification number belonged to a shipment received three weeks earlier. Consumer electronics. Forty-eight units. According to the system, it had already been stocked and reconciled. At the bottom of the label were handwritten initials.

VK.

Victoria’s supposed approval. Gareth stared at them.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“They’re wrong.”

“You can tell that from two letters?”

“I’ve seen her initials.”

Alex’s eyebrow lifted.

“On the checklist,” Gareth added.

“Of course,” Alex said.

Gareth pointed without touching the paper. “Victoria connects the right side of the V directly into the K. This person lifted the pen.”

Morgan examined it. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Bobby arrived breathing heavily, clipboard hugged against his chest.

“I would like it officially recorded that running after lunch is hostile working conditions.”

A sheet slipped loose and landed beside the pallet. Gareth bent to retrieve it, then stopped. Something metallic glinted beneath the bottom board. A scanner. Grey tape circled its handle.

R-14.

Morgan saw it too. “Nobody moves,” she said.

The PA crackled overhead. Every light above Bay Six flickered once. At the far side of the quarantine cage, Sage stood behind the locked mesh door. A ring of keys hung from one finger.

Alex whispered, “How did they get in there?”

Morgan stepped toward the cage. “Sage.”

Sage looked at the black-wrapped pallet. “Some doors hide what entered,” they said.

Their gaze moved to Gareth. “Some hide who opened them.”

Static swallowed the last word. The overhead lights blinked.

Sage was gone. The cage door remained padlocked.

Bobby stared at the empty space. “Do we have a policy for that?”

“No,” Morgan said.

“We should.”

Footsteps struck the stairs from the mezzanine.

Victoria crossed Receiving with her blazer open and her tablet in one hand. The floor seemed to correct itself around her, but this time Gareth saw the effort beneath the authority. Her control had not arrived naturally. She had forced it into place on the way down.

“What happened?”

Morgan showed her the panel. Victoria read the authorization entry.

“I did not open that door.”

“We know,” Gareth said.

Her eyes moved to him.

He pointed toward the label. “The approval initials are forged.”

Victoria looked through the barrier at the pallet, then at the scanner beneath it.

“R-14,” she said.

“The missing scanner,” Morgan confirmed. “And the pallet number belongs to stock already reconciled.”

Victoria’s face became perfectly still. That frightened Gareth more than anger would have.

“This is not a receiving error,” she said.

“No,” Morgan answered. “Someone is constructing a record.”

“A record that leads to me.”

Bobby raised one hand slightly. “For what it’s worth, the guys talking yesterday sounded nervous.”

Victoria turned toward him. “What guys?”

Bobby looked at Morgan.

Morgan said, “We will explain upstairs.”

Victoria considered the pallet, the broken seal, and the false approval attached to her name. Then she began giving orders. “Freeze Bay Six. No one enters the quarantine lane. Morgan, contact Security and preserve every access log before anyone can overwrite it. Alex, find out who was assigned to Inventory yesterday afternoon. Bobby, write down everything you heard before you improve it accidentally.”

“I don’t improve stories.”

Everyone looked at him.

“Fine. Sometimes.”

Victoria turned to Gareth. “I need the original receiving file reconstructed. Every scan, variance, movement, and adjustment tied to that pallet.”

“That could take hours.”

“I know.”

The warehouse continued around them, but Gareth felt the room narrow anyway. Victoria held his gaze.

“Can you stay after shift?”

A legitimate request. Documented work. A reason. And underneath it, something neither of them could safely name on the floor. Gareth looked at the forged initials bearing her name.

“Yes,” he said.

Victoria nodded once. “Report to my office when Receiving closes.”

Behind her, the glass above the warehouse remained clear. For now.