Page 46 of The Sea Witch's Son

CALISTA: Meet me in the winter gardens.

I sigh, putting away my phone, “Keep an eye on Finley for me. If he gets within ten feet of Melody St. James, I want to be informed immediately.”

“Of course, Captain.”

If only everyone was as obedient as Sebastian.

Calista is typing on her phone when I arrive. Her heels are perched on a wrought iron chair, the red soles glinting against her dark leather pants.

“You summoned me.”

I tuck my hands into my pockets, leaning back against the stone wall. The winter gardens are a glorified greenhouse, with rose bushes lining the pathway and vines creeping up the trellises surrounding the entrance.

“I did.” She doesn’t look up from her phone.

The obvious power play has me letting out another sigh. Calista knows I do not appreciate my time being wasted and yet she insists on testing my patience.

“My little saint will be crossing the campus in ten minutes and forty-three seconds.” I pause, suddenly noticing the creasebetween her brows, “Should I be planning to intervene on her next campus stroll?”

“Let’s set your little plaything aside for a moment.” Calista purses her lips, the bright pink colour rather tame, “We have a bigger issue at hand.”

My eyes flick around the courtyard, “No brawn today?”

“Gus is busy collecting intel for me. Though I have a feeling he might need your help.” Green eyes flick to mine, “Someone has been stealing from us.”

“Impossible.” My response is immediate.

“I thought so too until the numbers from the last shipment came in.”

I walk over and pull the chair out from under her feet. Settling myself down, I unlock my phone and pull up the latest financial dataset.

“Accounts payable and accounts receivable were balanced as of midnight Friday night. All transactions were cleared and directly deposited into the offshore account.”

“These came in this morning.” A ping sounds as the email gets sent to my inbox, “Take a look at the output numbers.”

I open up the spreadsheet and study the numbers.

Once a purchase is made through the app, the purchaser information is collected and stored on a database I manage back home. After twenty-four hours to ensure the payment has been approved, the money is sent to an offshore account and the sales are funneled into this spreadsheet which calculates gross profits.

I’ve already created an algorithm to automate most of the calculations. A quick peruse confirms nothing went astray on that front.

“Did one of the delivery boys fail to deliver a shipment?”

I zoom in on the numbers. Each one is divided into sections, the various costs of business subtracted from the net revenue at the bottom. All of them have a number except for one.

“Based on the time stamp, all of the boys delivered their shipments on time and on schedule.”

“So, someone stole the shipment after it was delivered.” I read the list of purchasing names, “Who submitted the complaint?”

“Leon, of all people.” Calista rolls her eyes, “As if the face disfigurement isn’t enough. He had to go and whine about a pound of missing coke.”

I grimace, thinking about the ghastly scar, “Did he receive a replacement?”

“I delivered it to him myself. The missing drugs aren’t the issue.”

Something fierce and unhinged crosses Calista’s otherwise beautiful face. I watch her toy with the sleeve of her leather jacket, playing with the blade stashed inside.

“It’s the disrespect.”

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