Chapter 10 - The Ambush at the Warehouse
Late Friday evening, my cell phone buzzed with an automated perimeter alert from Sector 4—our secondary logistics warehouse located on the industrial edge of the city. It was a holding facility for high-value commercial medical equipment awaiting international shipping, inventory worth nearly two million dollars in liquid capital.
According to the cloud monitoring system, someone had just overridden the physical security gates using a master manager code that was supposed to have been deactivated after the board meeting.
"She's going for the physical inventory," I realized, my blood running cold.
With her bank accounts frozen and her credit cards declined, Camille was desperate for untraceable cash to pay her high-priced defense lawyers and PR teams. She was attempting a midnight liquidation—loading commercial freight onto black-market trucks to sell for cents on the dollar before the auditors could inventory the warehouse.
I immediately called Harrison Grant and Sgt. Miller, then grabbed my coat and keys. "Meet me at the Sector 4 warehouse," I told them over the Bluetooth connection as I sped down the highway. "Bring tactical backup. She’s trying to rob the facility blind."
I arrived ten minutes before the police, pulling my car quietly behind a row of empty shipping containers in the dark lot. I slipped out of the driver's seat, keeping my cast tucked close to my body as I moved silently toward the loading dock doors.
Through the glass panes, I could see the bright overhead industrial lights burning. Three large, unmarked box trucks were backed up to the loading ramps. A team of day laborers was frantically loading crates of surgical robotics while Camille stood on the dock, clipboard in hand, barking orders at a nervous warehouse supervisor she had clearly bribed.
"Move faster!" Camille yelled, her voice echoing in the cavernous building. "We need these trucks out of the county by midnight! If anyone asks, this is an emergency corporate transfer authorized by my executive office!"
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I stepped out from the shadows of the shipping containers, walking into the bright lights of the loading dock. "Your executive office was terminated last Tuesday, Camille," I said clearly, my voice ringing over the hum of the idling truck engines. "And robbing a bonded federal freight facility is a mandatory ten-year prison sentence."
Camille spun around, dropping her clipboard, her eyes wide with shock and fury as she saw me standing alone on the dock.
