The Receipt Marcus Kane Slapped Down Would Cost More Than Anyone Expected

Leah had never asked Marcus what he remembered.

Marcus had never volunteered.

Her phone buzzed again.

She answered her supervisor’s message with, I’ll call at seven.

“You should sleep,” Marcus said.

“You should go home.”

He rinsed the mug.

“Are you going?” she asked.

“You just told me to.”

“I asked if you were.”

Another small answer would have been safer. He dried his hands on a dish towel.

“I can stay on the chair.”

“The chair doesn’t recline.”

“I sleep sitting up half the week.”

“That isn’t the reassuring fact you think it is.”

He remained.

At seven, Leah called her supervisor from the kitchen. Marcus woke to the murmur of her voice and the stiffness of his neck. He had fallen asleep in the chair with his boots on and his phone on his chest.

Leah’s supervisor, Cheryl, did not tell her to stay home. She did not tell her to come in, either.

“We’re getting calls,” Leah said after the conversation ended. “Some people think I work for Northway. Some think I’m stealing patient information. Cheryl says the company needs to assess the situation.”

“What situation?”

“My face is online.”

“That isn’t misconduct.”

“She didn’t call it misconduct.”

“What did she call it?”

“A reputational distraction.”

Marcus sat upright. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

Leah changed into black slacks and a cream blouse. She tied her hair back more carefully than usual, then took it down after seeing herself in the mirror. The video showed her with a loose knot. She did not want anyone at work comparing the two versions.

Marcus offered to drive her.

“No.”

“Your battery’s dead.”

“I’ll take the bus.”

“I’ll fix the battery.”

“I don’t want you outside my office.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like the video.”

He looked down at his black vest.

“That came out wrong,” she said.

“No, it didn’t.”

“I need one place today where nobody is watching me stand behind you.”

He set his coffee down.

Leah picked up the pharmacy bag, hesitated, and transferred the medicine into her purse. The torn bag remained on the kitchen table.

At the door, she said, “Don’t call the store.”

“I didn’t say I would.”

“That’s why I’m saying it.”

“Leah.”

“Don’t.”

She left.

Marcus stood beside the dying basil plant until he heard the outside door close.

Then he called the store.

Pamela Reyes answered after four transfers. She sounded as if she had not slept.

“Mr. Kane, our corporate office has instructed us not to discuss the investigation.”

“I want the security footage preserved.”

“It has been.”

“I want that in writing.”

“You are not the customer involved.”

“I witnessed it.”

“You can provide a statement.”

“I did.”

“Then there is nothing else you need to do at this time.”

“What happened to Todd?”

“I can’t discuss personnel matters.”

“Did he work the morning shift?”

Silence.

Marcus looked through Leah’s blinds at the bus stopping across the street.

Pamela said, “I suggest Ms. Brooks contact our customer-response team.”

“She did. They told her somebody would call in three to five business days.”

“They’re experiencing high volume.”

“I bet.”

“Mr. Kane, I watched the complete footage.”

He waited.

Pamela’s voice lowered. “Todd did not have grounds to touch her.”

“Did he reactivate the tag?”

“I cannot answer that.”

“That’s not the same as no.”

“I have a store full of people who saw one minute of an incident and decided they understand ten years of pressure, policy, staffing, and mistakes.”

Marcus leaned against the counter. “You’re defending him.”

“I am telling you that what happened was not created in one minute.”

“Then tell me what created it.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Pamela exhaled. “Ask Ms. Brooks to answer the corporate call.”

The line went dead.

At work, Leah found her photograph taped over the nameplate outside her cubicle. Someone had printed a still image from the video: Marcus in profile, Todd recoiling, Leah half-hidden behind the black leather vest. Across the bottom, in bold letters, someone had typed OUR OFFICE CELEBRITY.

Her coworker Nina hurried over and removed it.

“I told Grant it wasn’t funny.”

Leah placed her purse under the desk. “Was it Grant?”

“He says no.”

“So yes.”

“He didn’t mean it badly.”

“What is the good way to mean it?”

Nina crumpled the paper. “People are stupid before coffee.”

“People are stupid after coffee.”

“That too.”

The workday passed in fragments. Leah opened claims, entered codes, and forgot what she had entered. She answered the same email twice. At ten thirty, Cheryl called her into a conference room and closed the door.

Cheryl was a careful woman who wore bracelets that clicked when she typed. She set both hands flat on the table to keep them quiet.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she began.

Leah looked at the empty chair beside her.

“But our communications department is concerned about patient privacy.”

“I didn’t mention where I work.”

“You didn’t. Other people have.”

“I can’t control that.”

“We understand.”

“Then why am I here?”

“We received a message claiming you’ve discussed confidential medical information online.”

“I haven’t.”

“I believe you.”

“Then why am I here?”

Cheryl glanced at her bracelets. “We need to review your account activity as a precaution.”

The humiliation in the store had been loud and physical. This was quieter. It arrived in professional words and waited for Leah to object so the objection could become another problem.

“You think I stole patient information,” she said.