That evening, Gloria found an envelope in her mailbox. No stamp. No address. Inside was a photograph. It showed Gloria standing on Thomas Avery’s porch holding the package marked 417-29. Someone had taken the picture from down the street. On the back were three words. WRONG BOX, GLORIA. Her hands began shaking. For the first time since the entire mess began, Gloria stopped feeling like a thief who had gotten unlucky. She felt like a target. Detective Kim arrived. He placed the photograph into an evidence sleeve. “Do you recognize the handwriting?” “No.” “Anyone contact you?” “No.” “Anything unusual before today?” “The car.” He nodded. Gloria crossed her arms tightly. “What do I do?” “For tonight, stay somewhere else.” “My daughter is in Kansas City.” “We can arrange options.” Gloria looked around her living room. “I shouldn’t have taken it.” Kim did not comfort her. “No.” She looked at him. “You could pretend a little.” “You stole a package tied to a serious operation.” “I know.” “And before that, you stole from your neighbors.” “I know.” “That doesn’t mean you deserve to be threatened.” Gloria’s expression changed. Kim continued. “We’ll handle the threat.” “You handle your part by telling us everything.” “I already have.” “Think harder.”
Gloria stared at the photograph. Then she remembered the black pickup. The man who paid one hundred dollars. Something else had happened afterward. She had forgotten because, at the time, it seemed unimportant. “He gave me a number.” Kim looked up. “What number?” “Not a phone number.” “He wrote something on the money.” “What?” “Three digits.” “Which?” Gloria closed her eyes. She saw the folded bill in her hand. A blue pen mark near the corner. “604.” Detective Kim became very still. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “What happened to the bill?” “I spent it.” “Of course you did.” “It was money.” Kim exhaled. Then called someone. 604 was another identifier. Not the same series as 417-29. But investigators had found similar three-digit markings inside records connected to the warehouse shell companies. The numbers were not random. They appeared to correspond to route assignments. That meant the man in the pickup had not been freelancing. He was inside the organization. And Gloria had dealt with him face-to-face. That made her valuable. It also made the photograph in her mailbox more serious. The people behind 417-29 knew exactly who she was.
Gloria stayed at Thomas Avery’s house that night. Nobody enjoyed the arrangement. Especially Thomas. When Detective Kim suggested it, Gloria looked offended. “His house?” Thomas looked more offended. “My house?” Kim said: “You’re two doors from where she lives, your exterior security system is strong, and officers will be nearby.” Thomas crossed his arms. “She stole my daughter’s camera lens.” Gloria muttered: “I didn’t steal the lens.” Thomas stared. “You stole the box containing the lens.” “That’s different.” Samantha walked into the room. “No, it really isn’t.” Gloria looked away. Thomas sighed. “Fine.” At 10:30, Gloria sat at Thomas’s kitchen table drinking coffee. Samantha was upstairs. Thomas sat across from her. Neither spoke for several minutes. Then Gloria said: “I sold it.” Thomas looked up. “What?” “The camera lens.” His jaw tightened. “For how much?” “Two hundred dollars.” “Samantha paid six hundred.” “I didn’t know that.” “You knew it wasn’t yours.” Gloria stared into the coffee. “Yes.” “Why?” She looked confused. “Why what?” “Why steal all that stuff?” Gloria shrugged. “I needed money.” Thomas shook his head. “No.” She looked annoyed. “You asked why.” “And I’m telling you I don’t believe that answer.” “You don’t know my finances.” “Maybe not.” “But people who need money steal things they can sell.” “You stole protein drinks.” Gloria almost smiled. “I drank those.” “You stole Mr. Patterson’s shoe inserts.” “That was disappointing.”
Thomas stared. Gloria lowered her eyes. “You want the real answer?” “Yes.” She thought. “Because I could.” Thomas waited. “That’s it?” “At first.” Gloria leaned back. “My husband left.” “My daughter moved away.” “I hated my job.” “I hated that everybody on this street seemed to have something arriving every day.” “New shoes.” “New electronics.” “Food.” “Decorations.” “I was always watching boxes appear.” “One day, I took one.” “What was inside?” “A coffee maker.” “What did you do with it?” “Kept it.” “And then?” “Another box.” She shrugged. “Then another.” Thomas said: “So you liked getting free things.” “Yes.” “And liked getting away with it.” Gloria hesitated. Then nodded. “Yes.” That answer sounded uglier because it was honest. Thomas asked: “When did it stop feeling wrong?” Gloria looked at him. “It never stopped.” “Then why keep doing it?” “Because getting away with something makes the next time easier.” That sentence surprised him. Gloria continued. “The first time, I watched the street for an hour.” “The twentieth time, I barely looked.” “The hundredth?” She laughed bitterly. “I complained about porch theft at a neighborhood meeting.” Thomas shook his head. “That was something.” “I know.”