Bernice Opened Her Freight Binder And Found Our Missing Deposits

The invoice said Rusk Touring Hair LLC.

The address was in a small industrial row in Kearny, across the river. Under the new name sat our order number, LL-214, and our client's $3,200 deposit.

"That's our matinee company," I said.

Bernice nodded.

"Their manager asked me to match it against the packing sheet. She thought the name change was your idea."

Gavin came down the stairs while we stood at the counter.

"That's a separate venture," he said.

"With our order?" I asked.

"People ask for me by name."

"They sent measurements to this shop."

He reached for the invoice. Bernice closed the binder.

"My copy stays with me."

"Bernice, don't get into a domestic squabble."

"I supervise costumes. I'm very good at knowing what belongs where."

I called Leena from the sidewalk. She asked me to send a scan and stop arguing about it in front of Gavin.

"An odd invoice is a lead," she said. "We need to follow the payment."

Bernice and I took the binder to my apartment that evening. She brought lentil soup in two old food tubs and made me eat before we opened it.

"Nobody finds a missing crate on an empty stomach," she said.

The first pages were six years old. Our stock had lived in her company's rented storage while our Newark floor was repaired. Each crate had a number, a contents list, and two signatures.

Mine. Gavin's.

Crate seventeen held eighteen canvas wig blocks and six stands. Crate nineteen held bulk hair, lace, and ventilating needles.

At the bottom of the receiving sheet, Gavin had written my share beside his.

Rosalia: 40%. Gavin: 60%.

He had needed it for the storage insurance form.

"Funny how formal you were when somebody else's insurance asked," Bernice said.

I smiled for the first time that day.

The recent section held tour orders, delivery tickets, and payment approvals. Bernice had no access to our bank account. She did have the paperwork her own company and other touring supervisors had sent her to check.

We made a list of questions. We didn't call it theft.

LL-214: $3,200.

LL-219: $2,400.

LL-223: $1,800.

Those three invoices had been replaced by invoices bearing Gavin's other business name. The measurements, promised dates, and piece counts stayed the same.

"Why wouldn't the managers catch this?" I asked.

"Because they're getting sixty people and a truck into a new town every week. A trusted supplier says billing changed, they believe him."

I had believed him too.

At nine, a manager in Ohio returned Bernice's call. With her consent, we put her on speaker.

"Our deposit cleared last Thursday," she said. "Twenty-four hundred. We have the check image."

"Please send it to Leena," I said. "I'll give you her address."

"Is the wig order in trouble?"

That was the question beneath every other question.

"Your order is on my rack. I'm working on it."

After the call, Bernice washed our bowls. I watched her place them in the rack like she had known my kitchen for years.

"You don't have to mother me," I said.

"Good. I'm charging family rates."

The next morning, Leena arranged for an independent accountant, Celia Park, to review what we had. Her first hour cost $240.

Celia didn't gasp at the invoices.

She asked me to explain how a wig order moved through the shop. I showed her a blank head chart, a lace sample, and a packing slip.

"The same order number goes on all three," I said. "Otherwise a brown bob can end up in a box meant for a silver braid."

She set the old invoice beside its replacement. Both carried the same head sizes, including one actor's uneven ears.

"Keep this chart with the payment record," she said.

It felt strange to see an ear measurement become useful outside a fitting. Still, I knew those marks. I had made them before anyone argued about money.

"Where are the originals? Who received each email? Who can confirm the money cleared?"

We answered each question. She made a source list.

"These three add to $7,400," she said. "That is money to trace, not yet a final loss. There could be refunds or legitimate transfers."

I liked her for saying it.

She checked the copies of our open order book. Two more entries had notes in Gavin's hand: billing moved. Their deposits were $4,100 and $2,900.

Five orders. A possible $14,400.

Meanwhile, the shop's supplier statement showed $2,680 overdue for hair we needed to finish those same jobs.

I felt the shape of it then. My hands would finish the promises while his other shop held the money.

Leena asked Celia to prepare a short report stating what was known and what was missing. She sent Gavin's lawyer a request for the new company's related records.

At four, Gavin handed me an envelope across my workbench.

"You want everything written down," he said.

Inside was a notice blaming me for missing shop stock and demanding that I stop touching client work.