Chapter 5
Arthur Stromtron couldn't focus on restocking the cereal aisle. Every time a customer reached for a box of oats, he flinched, expecting a badge to flash or a dark sedan to idle past the front glass windows. His shift had ended twenty minutes ago, but he was still lingering in the breakroom, staring into his empty locker. The blue vest hung on a plastic hook like a dead skin he wished he could shed.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and store manager Greg Vance—no relation to the precinct captain, though they shared the same chilling composure—stepped inside. Greg held a clipboard and a clipboard pen, his eyes fixed on Arthur with an assessing coldness.
"Stromtron. You're off the clock," Greg noted, his tone flat.
"I know, Greg. Just... tying up some loose ends," Arthur muttered, pulling his leather jacket over his uniform shirt to hide the vest and the nametag.
Greg stepped closer, blocking the doorway just enough to make escape awkward. "About that incident in the parking lot earlier. The Hispanic woman. Did you recover the item?"
Arthur’s blood ran cold. How did Greg know about the item? He hadn't mentioned specifics to anyone on the floor. He had only told management that a suspected shoplifter had dropped something before fleeing the scene—a cover story he had hastily invented to protect himself after realizing the woman was a cop.
"What item?" Arthur asked, feigning ignorance with a dry throat.
Greg’s smile didn't reach his eyes. It was a calculated, corporate grimace. "Don't play games with me, Arthur. The man in the gray suit who spoke to you this morning? He’s a very important client of this corporate chain. He provides our security auditing contracts. When he asks for a favor, we deliver."
The room seemed to shrink. Arthur stared at his manager, realizing the horrifying depth of the conspiracy. It wasn't just a rogue cop or a shady stranger; it was an entire corporate-police pipeline operating out of the back rooms of retail giants and municipal precincts.
"You knew," Arthur whispered, horror dawning in his chest. "You knew they were setting her up."
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"I knew that keeping our corporate contracts intact pays your salary and keeps this store open," Greg replied smoothly, stepping aside just enough to let Arthur pass, though the threat in his posture was unmistakable. "You did your job, Arthur. Now, go home, forget you ever saw a foil packet, and enjoy your weekend. Because if you say one word to anyone outside these walls, you won't just lose your job. You'll lose your pension eligibility, your reference letters, and quite possibly your peace of mind."
Arthur brushed past his manager without another word, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stepped out into the chilly evening air.
