Manager on Duty Chapter Seven: Morgan Sees Too Much

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The second copy of the checklist was waiting for Morgan before she asked for it.

Gareth had placed it in a clear plastic sleeve on the Receiving workstation, tucked beneath the day’s manifests but not hidden. Bay Six sat halfway down the page, its empty initials box still cut through by Victoria’s diagonal signature.

Morgan found it at 8:16.

Around them, the warehouse was already building toward its usual noise. Dock plates clanged. A forklift reversed somewhere near Shipping, beeping in steady accusation. Bobby argued with his clipboard in a voice low enough to suggest the clipboard had begun the fight.

Morgan looked at the sleeve, then at Gareth. “You remembered.”

“You said you wanted a copy.”

“I said I needed a copy.”

“Same difference.”

“No,” Morgan said. “It isn’t.”

Gareth kept scanning the carton in front of him. Kitchen fixtures. Twelve units. One dented corner. His hands knew what to do even while the rest of him felt like he had been caught standing too close to a fire.

Morgan slid the checklist free.

Her eyes travelled over the boxes. Bay doors. Alarms. Cages. Scanners. The blank line at Bay Six. Victoria’s initials. The line struck through her own name.

Morgan’s mouth flattened. “She signed it.”

“Yes.”

“She normally makes people own their own lines.”

Gareth looked at her. “She said she shared the risk.”

Morgan gave a short, humourless breath. “Of course she did.”

Before he could ask what that meant, Luis shouted from Bay Two.

“Forklift!”

Gareth turned in time to see a pallet of boxed patio heaters leaning at an ugly angle on the forks. One of the bottom boards had split near the centre. The load had shifted just enough that the shrink wrap pulled tight on one side and loosened on the other.

Luis sat frozen in the cab.

“It was fine when I picked it up,” he called.

“It was fine until it wasn’t,” Morgan snapped.

She moved first. Gareth moved with her.

“Set it down,” he called.

Luis looked toward the open lane. “I can get it to overflow.”

“Set it down,” Gareth repeated.

The second time came out sharper.

Luis stopped arguing. The pallet touched down crookedly near the painted safety line. One box tipped sideways, caught in the wrap, and hung there like it was considering its options.

Morgan looked at Gareth. “You stopping it?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m not moving that until it’s safe.”

For one second, Morgan’s expression shifted. Respect, perhaps.

She grabbed a roll of wrap from the nearby rack. “Good. Luis, kill the lift. Gareth, get the pallet jack. We break it down here.”

“It’ll put us behind,” Luis said.

Morgan looked at him. “So will an incident report.”

Luis shut up.

They spent fifteen minutes rebuilding the pallet properly. Gareth pulled damaged boxes aside, checked the remaining load, and made a new label while Morgan reset the stack. It was ordinary work. Dirty work. Cardboard dust under the nails and stretch wrap snapping against their wrists. But by the time the last box was secure, the floor had settled around them again.

Morgan handed Gareth the roll of wrap. “You could’ve told him to take it to overflow.”

“It would’ve fallen in the aisle.”

“Maybe.”

“It would’ve become somebody else’s problem.”

Morgan watched him for a moment. “Exactly.”

Bobby appeared at Gareth’s elbow carrying his clipboard with both hands, as if he had finally accepted it required adult supervision.

“Good news,” he said.

Morgan did not look at him. “This is rarely how good news begins.”

“I found the paperwork for the patio heater shipment.”

“That was your assignment,” Gareth said.

“See? Good news.”

A page slipped from the clipboard and fluttered to the concrete.

Bobby caught it with his boot, bent down, and handed it to Gareth.

“Paper remembers stuff people pretend didn’t happen,” Bobby muttered.

Morgan went still.

Bobby blinked at both of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gareth said.

“I was talking about forms.”

“Of course you were,” Morgan said.

Bobby squinted at the damaged pallet. “Anyway, Safety wants a report. They said something about ‘learning opportunities.’ That usually means someone else gets yelled at in an email.”

He wandered off before either of them could answer.

Morgan looked down at the checklist again. “You asked her to make me a copy?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Gareth considered lying. The lie would have been simple. Because you told me to. Because it was better documentation. Because that was the professional thing to do.

Instead, he said, “I didn’t want the checklist to become a private language.”

Morgan’s eyes lifted to his. “That’s a good answer.”

“It’s the true one.”

“Those are not always the same thing.”

He looked away first.

Morgan lowered her voice. “Did she ask you to keep anything quiet?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you what this is?”

Gareth’s face warmed despite the cool warehouse air. “What this is?” he repeated.

Morgan’s gaze did not move. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” he said carefully. “Not in words.”

“That is where words matter most.”

“I know.”

Morgan folded the checklist once, then stopped herself and smoothed it flat again.

“No,” she said. “You know how to follow an instruction. That is different.”

The dock door behind them shuddered as another trailer backed in. Gareth watched the line of it instead of looking at her.

“She didn’t make me do anything,” he said.

“I know.”

“She asked. I answered.”

“I know that too.”

“Then what exactly are you warning me about?”

When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge. “Victoria can make a room feel like the only room in the building,” she said. “The trouble starts when you leave it.”

Gareth looked at her. “You talk like you’ve been there.”

Morgan’s expression closed. “I have.”

“Did she hurt you?”

Morgan gave a small laugh with no amusement in it. “Not in a way she would recognise.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No,” Morgan said. “It doesn’t.”

For a moment, the warehouse noise seemed to pull back from them. Then Morgan placed the checklist back inside its sleeve.

“Don’t confuse being chosen with being safe,” she said.

Gareth’s shoulders tightened. “I’m not asking her to keep me safe.”

“Maybe you should ask her to make room for you anyway.”

He stared at her. Morgan held his gaze.

“Not behind glass,” she said. “Not only when the door is locked. In daylight. In paperwork. In every place where it costs something to mean what you say.”

Gareth looked toward the mezzanine.

Victoria’s office glass was clear this morning. From below, he could see only the pale outline of her desk and the movement of someone crossing the hall beyond it.

“She shared the risk,” he said.

Morgan nodded once. “Good. Make sure she keeps sharing it.”

Then she took the second copy and walked toward the stairs. Gareth watched until she disappeared onto the mezzanine.

At 11:42, Victoria sent a warehouse-wide message about Bay Six, Facilities, and the investigation timeline. No special language. No private instruction. No invitation upstairs.

Gareth read it twice. Then he went back to Receiving. Scan. Check. Label. Move.

By the end of shift, the patio heaters were restacked, the damaged boxes had been documented, and the Safety report had been filed. Bobby’s clipboard had lost three more pages and somehow gained a crumpled granola bar wrapper.

Gareth stood by the time clock.

Front pockets.

Back pockets.

Front pockets again.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. Pen.

Everything accounted for.

Above him, Victoria and Morgan stood behind the clear office glass. They were talking as Morgan held the checklist folder against her side. Victoria looked down toward Receiving. Her eyes found Gareth’s. Neither of them moved. Then Gareth clocked out and left.

This time, he did not mistake walking away for being dismissed.