Chapter 5
The screen of Martha’s phone glowed against the dark upholstery of the car as it rested in the center console. The number was unfamiliar, displaying only a local area code followed by a string of digits she didn't recognize. She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the screen. In the wake of the store's public humiliation, every unexpected ping felt like another shoe waiting to drop.
David opened the driver’s door and slid inside, shaking off the chill of the parking lot. He glanced over at her, noting the tension in her posture before starting the engine.
"You okay?" David asked gently, backing the sedan out of the space with practiced ease.
"My phone keeps buzzing," Martha said, her voice tight. "An unknown number. I haven't even made it out of the parking lot yet, and it's already starting."
"Ignore it for now," David advised, keeping his eyes on the road as they navigated toward the exit lanes. "If it's reporters or corporate flacks trying to offer a quick settlement, let them talk to my firm. You don't need the stress right now. Focus on breathing."
Martha nodded, tossing the phone back onto the passenger seat as if it were a venomous creature. Yet, as the device lit up a second time with a text message notification, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the glowing preview text.
We saw what happened at Store 412. Don't sign anything with them. Call us. We have the video.
She sat up straight, a cold shiver running down her spine. The video. She knew someone had been recording on a phone near the checkout lanes, but the thought that footage was already out there—potentially circulating online or being peddled to media outlets—made her stomach turn all over again.
"David, look at this," Martha said, picking the phone back up and holding the screen out toward him while he waited at a red light.
David glanced at the screen, his expression hardening immediately. He pulled the car safely into a small, empty strip mall parking lot off the main boulevard, shifting into park before turning to fully face her.
"That was fast," David murmured, tapping his steering wheel with one finger. "Too fast. Let me see the number."
He took the phone from her hand and typed the digits into a quick search app on his own encrypted device. Within seconds, a corporate registry database pulled up the backend profile associated with the incoming message.
"It's not a journalist," David said, his brow furrowing deeply as he read the data on his screen. "It's a digital reputation management firm. They're contracted by Walmart's parent company to scrub negative PR before it hits the national feeds."
"They're trying to bury it," Martha realized, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. "Before anyone else even knows what happened."
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"Which means," David said slowly, looking her dead in the eye, "they know they're sitting on a massive liability. They want to control the narrative, and they want you to sign a nondisclosure agreement before the sun goes down."
Before Martha could reply, her phone rang loudly in the quiet car, the caller ID shifting from an unknown number to a blocked name, while a heavy knock suddenly echoed against the passenger side window.
