The first inspector arrived just as the lunch crowd was starting to come in.

Renak smiled at them as he would any patron.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Renak’s Trade Emporium, Bar & Casino.”

The man pulled out a PADD instead of a shopping list.

“Routine compliance inspection.”

Renak’s smile didn’t waver.

“Of course.”

For the next forty minutes, the man walked from the kitchen to the casino floor, opening freezers and inspecting food temperatures, peeking under staircases to ensure fire lanes were clear, double-checking gaming licenses, and cross-referencing manifests with imported goods. Renak politely answered questions and happily handed over every permit he asked for.

When he was done, it was over just like the last three times.

No violations.

No citations.

No recommendations.

Not even a warning.

Just a polite thank you, and the inspector left.

Renak watched the doors close behind him.

“…Curious.”

—

Two days later, he was interrupted by another inspection, this time during the dinner rush.

The next week, it was a fire inspector.

The week after that, a civilian gaming compliance officer.

And three days after that, a customs audit on his imported goods.

Each visitor was authorized.

Each individual was friendly.

And each walked away with nothing to cite him for.

Still, it began to feel like they picked the busiest time possible to schedule their visits.

Lunch.

Dinner.

Busy with a scheduled poker tournament.

Hosting a merchant conference.

The grand opening of a new trade exhibit.

Never when things were slow at ten in the morning.

Always when every patron sitting at a table was losing potential revenue.

Renak cooperated with them every time, of course.

He ran a legitimate business. If the inspectors wanted to come look, he had nothing to hide.

Still…

Something didn’t feel right.

—

Late one night, after the restaurant had closed for the day, Renak leaned against the bar with a mug of Tarkalean tea and a stack of inspection reports spread across the bar. Health inspection. Gaming inspection. Fire Code. Commercial licenses. Imported goods. Occupancy clearance. He flipped through them idly.

Each report ended the same way.

No deficiencies were noted.

Renak tapped his fingers on the bar.

“So…”

He sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Either I am the model citizen every businessman on Starbase Bravo hopes to become…” He riffled through another folder.

“…Or someone has it in for me.”

He leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling.

Unbidden, his mind went back to that initial thought.

*Could it be because I’m Ferengi? *

Renak scowled. No. He shook his head.

He’d spent enough time on the station to know that wasn’t it. Sure, he’d gotten some odd stares here and there, but he’d encountered far more Starfleet officers and civilians who treated him with nothing but fairness. He worked hard to cultivate a reputation of integrity and professionalism within the retail community and had every reason to believe it worked.

It had to be something else.

Maybe it had something to do with visiting Civilian Affairs so often after that evacuation drill.

Renak snorted.

He definitely knew the face of the Administrative by now.

“I guess I could be said to have harassed them a bit…”

He conceded that much.

But then another thought occurred to him.

What if one of his visits happened to coincide with a high-ranking officer who decided Renak should be watched more closely?

Hmm…

Still, again, he shook his head.

Again, he had nothing to back that up.

What he had was a string of seemingly unrelated events that just happened to converge on him. Coincidence.

Merchants understood coincidence better than most. Coincidence was why you never offered an old Earth cigar to a client who looked like they might have smoked one before. Coincidence was why you knew some mysteries were better left unsolved.

Coincidence could be expensive.

Renak rubbed his eyes wearily.

His father used to say that the fastest way to drive away a good customer was to suspect malicious intent when there was none. He supposed the same could be said for bureaucrats.

He carefully stacked the reports and slid them back into the filing cabinet.

“No.” Renak shook his head again.

“I don’t deal in hunches.” He tapped his temple. “I deal in facts.”

“And facts are…”

He raised a hand and counted off on his fingers.

“My business is following all proper guidelines.”

“My inspections have been legal.”

“And the inspectors have all been professional.”

Renak allowed himself a small smile.

“Too goddamn professional.”

It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it was enough to break the silence of his empty restaurant.

Regardless of why they started targeting him, Renak decided he wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about it. If there was a misunderstanding, he would clear it up through the right channels. If inspectors really were that intrigued by his business, then maybe they would slack off once their notes proved it was always inspected during peak hours.

Until then, he had a business to run.

“You’re just going to grin and bear it?”

He chuckled again at his own reflection in the darkened glasses display behind him.

Let the inspectors come. If there was one thing Renak was, it was a stubborn Risan.

He’d weather this little storm just like he had the ones in the past. He’d serve good food. Offer fun games. And smile every time an inspector walked through his doors.

After all, he thought as he locked up and turned out the lights,

You didn’t build a reputation as a merchant by sweating when things went your way.

You did it by standing your ground when the galaxy tried everything it could think of to make you turn tail and run.