The hum of the diesel engines in the shipping yard always vibrated through the floorboards of the third-floor office. I liked the sound because it meant our drivers were moving freight, but today the vibration felt like a low, persistent headache.
I sat at the oak desk with the third-quarter expense binders open in front of me.
Evan walked in without knocking, his leather briefcase swinging against his knee. He did not look at me as he dropped the monthly fuel adjustment reports onto my desk.
“Diesel is up another twelve percent in the midwest region,” he said.
He adjusted his cuffs and checked his gold watch, his thumb dragging across the polished bezel.
“We need to trim the maintenance budget for the Toledo terminal,” he added.
“We cannot trim safety protocols, Evan,” I said. “My father spent thirty years keeping those trucks on schedule without a single major axle failure.”
Evan made a short, dry sound in his throat and sat in the leather chair opposite me.
“Your father ran a regional delivery service, Claire. We are a logistics network now.”
I turned the page of the general ledger, the heavy paper stiff under my fingers.
My eyes stopped on a line under the administrative expenses for August.
Thirty-five thousand dollars had been wired to an entity called Oakhaven Events.
“What is this promotional consulting fee?” I asked.
Evan did not look up from his phone. “Which one?”
“Oakhaven Events,” I said. “Thirty-five thousand dollars on August twelfth. And another thirty-five thousand on September tenth.”
“It is just standard marketing, Claire, nothing you need to worry your head about,” he said.
He stood up, tapping the screen of his phone twice before sliding it into his breast pocket.
“We are expanding our regional profile,” he said. “We need local outreach.”
“We have an in-house marketing team of four people,” I said. “They handle our regional promotions.”
“They do not handle high-level corporate hosting,” Evan said, his voice rising slightly.
He walked to the window, looking down at the flatbed trailers lining up at the loading bays.
I looked at the entry again, the black ink stark against the cream-colored columns of the ledger.
