"Central receiving," Lena said. "Usually the storage annex behind the vehicle maintenance building."
Mercer nodded. "Major deliveries often stay there until a vendor can schedule the work."
"Then receiving and transfer documents should identify where the equipment went afterward."
Lena opened the warehouse ledger. Seven shipments were marked transferred to Sloan Integrated Systems. Several entries recorded pallet counts but omitted complete serial ranges. Other entries described equipment as deployed without naming the city employee who accepted it into service. A later record had closed the remaining inventory under the code PROJECT COMPLETE. No matching return, disposal, or substitution records appeared in the screens they reviewed.
Rebecca leaned over the monitor. "The contractor could have used another work order."
"Then we'll find it," Maya said. "I'm not trying to prove a preferred explanation. I'm trying to reconcile what the city bought, what the vendor delivered, and what the department is using."
Mercer glanced at his watch. In an hour he was supposed to be briefing the city manager about overtime costs. Instead, federal personnel were asking why equipment purchased with public money could not be found. He disliked the growing sense that every answer he offered created another question. He had approved the project because the city wanted better records and because Calvin Sloan had promised to deliver them without interrupting essential operations. Whether that confidence had been misplaced was now a question more consequential than his budget presentation.
"I'd like access to the annex," Maya said. "We'll document any relevant equipment in place before comparing its serial numbers with the completed installation lists."
"You'll need city facilities," Mercer answered. "We don't keep those keys here."
"Please contact them. Also ask a city representative to witness the inspection."
Frank Holloway arrived twenty minutes later. He was a sixty-year-old facilities supervisor with a weathered face, a heavy key ring, and the unhurried manner of a man who had watched many administrators mistake paperwork for the physical world. He wore a canvas jacket bearing the city's maintenance emblem. After reviewing the preservation order and signing an entry record, he led Maya, Mercer, Rebecca, and the federal photographer across the service yard toward a low concrete warehouse.
Rain from the previous night remained in dark patches around the curb. Beyond the fence, Asheford's downtown buildings rose against a clear sky, their windows catching the late-morning sun. Frank unlocked a side entrance and waited until the photographer documented the seal and door before switching on the overhead lights. Fluorescent fixtures flickered awake one row at a time. Dust drifted above stacks of boxes, metal shelving, rolled traffic barriers, and heavy pallets wrapped in translucent plastic.
"Technology project materials are along the back wall," Frank said. "We set that space aside when the deliveries started coming in."
Maya stopped at the first pallet. Manufacturer labels showed encrypted storage modules, charging docks, body cameras, and network hardware. The boxes carried receiving stickers that matched the procurement package. More important, several had intact factory bands with serial numbers visible through clear sleeves. Owen checked the first number against a list on his tablet. It was registered in the city's final inventory as installed in the primary evidence array.