Chapter 2
Store Manager Arthur Pendelton pushed his way through the stunned semicircle of onlookers, his polyester tie askew and his face flushed with the kind of corporate panic that only public scandals could provoke. He took in the tableau instantly: Martha Vance standing trembling with her shirt still pulled up, tears tracking through the dust on her cheeks; Officer Rebecca Miller looking as though she wanted the linoleum floor to swallow her whole; and a growing audience of murmuring customers with their smartphones out.
"Officer Miller, what on earth is going on here?" Arthur demanded, his voice pitching up an octave. He quickly stepped between Martha and the crowd, using his bulky frame to block the view of a teenage boy recording the incident on a phone. "Put your shirt down, ma'am, please. I am so terribly sorry about this."
Martha let the hem of her maroon t-shirt drop back into place, but the damage was done. Her skin burned with humiliation. She clutched her shopping bags so tightly her knuckles turned white, the plastic handles cutting into her palms.
"Your guard accused me of shoplifting," Martha said, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and suppressed fury. "She demanded I lift my shirt right here in front of everybody. Like common trash."
Rebecca opened her mouth, desperate to defend herself, but no sound came out. The training protocols that had felt so absolute two minutes ago now felt like a blunt instrument used on an innocent pregnant woman. "She matched the profile," Rebecca finally muttered, the excuse sounding hollow even to her own ears. "A tip came over the radio about a concealed electronics box in loose clothing."
"A tip?" Arthur hissed, glaring at his security guard. "We don't do public strip searches based on vague radio chatter, Miller! You know our policy inside and out. You've exposed this store to a lawsuit that could cost us our jobs."
"I was just doing my job," Rebecca whispered, looking down at the scuffed toes of her duty boots.
"Your job is to protect the store, not terrorize our shoppers," Arthur snapped, before turning back to Martha with a sickeningly sweet customer-service smile that failed to reach his panicked eyes. "Mrs. Vance, right? Please, let's step into my office. We can sort this out over a cup of coffee, maybe discuss how we can make this right for you. On the house, of course."
Martha stared at him, her heart heavy. She didn't want his coffee. She didn't want his corporate hush-money. She thought about her baby, growing inside her, subjected to this sudden surge of adrenaline and stress over a basket of groceries containing little more than milk, diapers, and fresh fruit.
"I don't want your coffee," Martha said coldly, stepping around him. "I want to go home."
May you like
"Wait, please don't leave just yet," Arthur pleaded, reaching out a hand to stop her before pulling it back quickly, terrified of making physical contact again. "Let me check your bags myself, just to officially clear your name in our log."
Martha stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the store manager. The audacity took her breath away.
