Chapter 6 - The Vendor from Chicago
By three in the morning, the warehouse had been transformed into an active crime scene. Flashing red and blue lights painted rhythmic patterns across the frost-covered glass of the front offices. Two uniformed patrol officers escorted Ray Mercer out through the employee entrance, his hands cuffed behind his back, his head buried in his parka to hide from the cold and the shame.
Ethan stood near the water cooler, speaking with Detective Miller of the Fargo Police Department. Nora sat on a vinyl couch nearby, a warm wool blanket draped over her shoulders, holding a fresh cup of tea that one of the night security guards had brought her.
""We have the corporate records from the Secretary of State,"" Ethan told the detective, handing over a thick binder of printed bank receipts. ""His wife’s account was the primary conduit. But Ray didn't act alone on the supply side. He had a broker in Chicago supplying the counterfeit fiber certs.""
Detective Miller flipped through the pages, whistling softly through his teeth. ""This isn't just local grand larceny, Mr. Caldwell. Manufacturing counterfeit PPE certifications for life-safety equipment falls under federal jurisdiction. The FBI’s white-collar division and the Department of Homeland Security will want a piece of this by sunrise.""
""Give them everything,"" Ethan said without hesitation. ""Every server, every backup drive, every yard of fabric in Bay 4. We want total cooperation on the record.""
When the detective walked out to his cruiser, Ethan walked over to the vinyl couch and sat down heavily beside Nora. He looked exhausted; dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his hair was tangled from running his hands through it all night.
""The police are impounding the entire inventory of Lot 317 as evidence,"" Ethan said quietly.
Nora looked into her tea. ""What about the regional contract?""
""I spoke to the state procurement director twenty minutes ago,"" Ethan replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ""I told him the truth. I told him we discovered a material failure during internal quality checks, that our former production manager attempted to conceal it, and that we are voluntarily holding the delivery.""
""What did he say?""
""He said he appreciated the honesty, but the statute doesn't care about ethics,"" Ethan said with a grim smile. ""The contract requires two hundred certified coats delivered to the regional staging depot by Friday at five PM. If we fail to deliver, the state is legally required to invoke the default clause, pull our preferred vendor status, and award the eight-million-dollar contract to Lakeland Protective in Ohio.""
Nora set her cup down on the low coffee table. ""How many yards of genuine, certified forty-pound aramid thread do we have on site?""
Ethan looked up, puzzled. ""What?""
""In the clean storage room. The certified Apex spools from the original September batch. How many are left?""
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""Maybe forty spools,"" Ethan said. ""Enough for a hundred coats, maybe a hundred and twenty if we conserve thread on the pocket flaps. But the assembly line is dead, Nora. The operators don't come in until seven, and they’ve spent the last twelve hours hearing rumors that the company is going under. Nobody’s going to work a miracle on twelve hours' notice.""
Nora stood up, letting the wool blanket fall onto the sofa. ""They’ll work if they know why we’re doing it. Call the line leads, Ethan. Tell them to be on the floor by six AM. I’ll be in the cutting room.""
