Chapter 2 - The Midnight Audit
The Weller Fulfillment Services Regional Distribution Center outside Madison covered four hundred thousand square feet of polished concrete, high-bay steel racking, and automated conveyer systems. At 11:30 PM on a Friday night, the facility was usually operating on a quiet skeleton crew, processing night-freight transfers for Saturday morning dispatch.
Tonight, the main office floor was fully lit.
Howard Vance, a fifty-two-year-old logistical director who had worked for Malcolm for two decades, stood near the primary dispatch desk holding a digital clipboard. Beside him stood the night shift manager, looking bewildered.
The side entrance doors hissed open, and Malcolm Weller walked in, throwing his wool coat over a chair.
"Malcolm," Howard said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's nearly midnight. The executive board meeting is in Chicago at nine tomorrow morning. What on earth is so urgent about a single SKU adjustment?"
Malcolm walked past the dispatch desk toward the automated sorting lanes. "Did you find the optical stock?"
Howard tapped his clipboard. "We have sixteen thousand line items in the sporting and educational optics category. But the Briar Glen community drive was sourced from our bulk closeout inventory—Category D. Those are basic toys, board games, and low-cost electronics. We don't stock high-precision scientific equipment in the community outreach drive allocations."
"I didn't ask what was in the drive allocation, Howard," Malcolm said, stopping at the end of Aisle 14. "I asked if we have a professional-grade refractor telescope in this facility."
Howard stared at his boss. "Yes. We distribute for Celestron and Meade. We have eight hundred units of the Omni XLT series in Bay 9. But Malcolm... those are twelve-hundred-dollar optical systems with German equatorial mounts. They're meant for university laboratories and serious amateur astronomers. They aren't giveaway items."
"How long to pull one, verify the collimation, and package it for individual courier delivery?" Malcolm asked.
"Ten minutes," Howard said flatly. "Because we are the most efficient logistics company in the Midwest. But that's not the point. You spent four hundred thousand dollars funding the tri-county holiday drive. You gave out thirty-seven presents at Briar Glen alone. Why are you personally standing in a warehouse at midnight over one missed box?"
Malcolm turned to look at the vast expanse of steel shelving stretching into the dim upper reaches of the warehouse.
"Because I watched an eight-year-old child count thirty-seven presents for thirty-seven children," Malcolm said quietly. "Then she counted herself. Thirty-eight. And do you know what she did after that, Howard?"
Howard remained silent.
"She picked up a piece of trash left by another child and folded it neatly so she could throw it away," Malcolm continued. "She didn't throw a tantrum. She didn't cry in front of her mother. She protected her mother's feelings because she knew her mother was exhausted."
Malcolm looked at Howard. "Her name is June Ellison. She wants to look at the Sea of Serenity. Pull the Omni XLT. And add a heavy-duty tripod, a red-night-vision flashlight, and the complete lunar topographic atlas."
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Howard looked at his employer for a long moment. The irritation on the logistics director's face slowly softened into something resembling profound respect. "Consider it pulled, Malcolm. Do you want it shipped via standard regional freight?"
"No," Malcolm said, taking his coat off the chair. "I'll deliver it myself."
