Chapter 3
The glaring fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum with a malicious energy as Martha stared at Arthur Pendelton. His hand hovered in mid-air, a pathetic gesture of managerial damage control. The crowd of onlookers had not dispersed; instead, they pressed in closer, sensing the drama was far from over. Several phones were clearly pointed in their direction, tiny red recording lights blinking in the dimming afternoon light outside the glass doors.
"You want to search my bags?" Martha asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. "After everything your guard just put me through? You think I'm still hiding a stolen TV in my grocery sacks?"
"No, no, of course not, Mrs. Vance," Arthur stammered, his face blooming a mottled crimson. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "It’s merely a procedural formality. For our records. So we can document that everything was accounted for and ensure Officer Miller’s report is accurate. Just a quick peek."
"My name is Martha," she corrected him sharply. "And you won't be peeking at anything else today. I paid for my items. Here is the receipt." She thrust the crumpled piece of thermal paper directly against his chest. "Take it. Read every line. Match it to the milk, the bread, and the baby wipes. And then tell me why your employee treated me like a criminal."
Arthur flinched, backing up half a step. He didn't take the receipt; he didn't dare. He could see the legal liability flashing before his eyes like a neon sign. A pregnant woman publicly humiliated by store security was a plaintiff attorney's dream come true.
"Look, Martha, let's not make this harder than it needs to be," Arthur lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially. "Corporate hates bad press. Especially local press. How about we settle this right now? I can issue you a five-hundred-dollar gift card. Fully loaded. Good for anything in the store. Groceries, baby clothes, whatever you need."
Rebecca watched the exchange from the periphery, her stomach churning. The bribe—because that was what it was—felt dirty. It was an admission of guilt wrapped in corporate plastic.
"Are you trying to buy my silence?" Martha asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. She looked around at the faces of the shoppers watching them. A few of them muttered disapproval at the manager's transparent maneuver.
"It's a gesture of goodwill," Arthur insisted, his smile tight and strained. "A token of our deep regret for the misunderstanding."
"It's an insult," Martha said firmly. She turned on her heel, her grip tightening on her grocery bags. "Keep your gift card. You're going to need that money for your legal fees."
"Wait, Mrs. Vance—Martha!" Arthur called out, taking a hurried step after her.
May you like
Before he could close the distance, a tall man in a worn canvas jacket stepped out from the crowd, blocking Arthur's path. He pulled out a small leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a private investigator's badge.
"Arthur Pendelton?" the man asked calmly. "My name is David Gable. I represent the Vance family. I suggest you don't say another word without legal counsel present."
