Chương 10
He began badly.
“You’ve all seen the video.”
A few people looked down.
“It was recorded without my permission and shared against instructions. We’re handling that separately.”
The maintenance supervisor shifted his weight.
Marcus had planned to explain the Northstar situation next. Instead, he saw Caleb near the back, still wearing yesterday’s gray hoodie. His mother stood beside him with one hand on his shoulder.
Marcus’s prepared sentence disappeared.
“The video is accurate,” he said.
The room changed.
“I am afraid of injections. More than I should be. More than makes sense to me. Yesterday, I acted like I wasn’t, and then I acted like the recording was the only problem.”
Rachel’s pen stopped moving.
Marcus continued. “The recording was a problem. Patients were in the background. Devin ignored a direct instruction. But none of that makes the part about me untrue.”
One of the coaches, Darnell, raised his hand halfway. “Is Northstar pulling out?”
“They froze the next payment.”
Murmurs moved through the group.
A tutor asked, “Does that affect jobs?”
“It could.”
Rachel stepped forward. “Current payroll is covered for six weeks. Saturday’s health event is still happening. Construction next door is paused. We’ll know more after Northstar’s review Thursday.”
Darnell looked at Marcus. “What do they want?”
“A public statement.”
“That sounds normal.”
“They want me to finish the appointment and use it to restore the campaign.”
A woman from the tutoring team frowned. “Are you refusing?”
Marcus looked at her. “I don’t know yet.”
The honesty irritated some people.
He could see it in their faces. They had rent, children, debt, and schedules built around income. His private struggle did not become noble merely because he admitted it. To them, an injection was small. The risk to their jobs was not.
Darnell said, “I’m scared of flying. Northstar wants me on a plane, I get on the plane.”
Rachel replied, “That isn’t the only issue.”
“It is if the funding depends on it.”
Caleb’s mother spoke from the back. “The campaign tells people not to avoid care.”
Darnell nodded. “Exactly.”
Marcus let them argue.
The old version of him would have stopped the discussion, delivered a conclusion, and called unity a decision. Instead, he listened while people disagreed.
Some believed he should do whatever protected the program.
Some believed Northstar was using his fear for marketing.
One coach said the video made Marcus more relatable. Another said relatability did not cover health insurance.
A tutor asked whether Devin would return. Rachel said the investigation was ongoing.
Caleb remained silent.
Finally, Marcus lifted his hand.
“I am not asking anyone to pretend this does not affect you,” he said. “I’m asking for today. Rachel and I will review every expense and contract. Nobody loses a job before we speak again.”
“That’s six weeks,” Darnell said.
“Yes.”
“And after?”
“I don’t know.”
The words landed harder than any confident promise would have.
People dispersed slowly.
Darnell stayed behind.
He had worked with Marcus for eight years and had the broad, patient face of a man who rarely became angry because anger exhausted him.
“You could just get the shot,” he said.
Marcus nodded. “I could.”
“You going to?”
“I don’t know.”
Darnell sighed. “I love you, man. But that answer is expensive.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Marcus looked across the gym at Rachel, who was speaking with the tutors.
“Yes.”
Darnell shook his head. “Knowing isn’t paying.”
He walked away.
At nine twelve, Marcus called Aaron.
“I’m not releasing your statement.”
Aaron was silent for several seconds. “What are you releasing?”
“My own.”
“Send it for review.”
“No.”
“Marcus, the agreement includes communications coordination.”
“It does not give you approval over personal statements.”
Dana’s voice joined the call. “It gives Northstar consultation rights when statements may affect the campaign.”
“Consultation is not control.”
Rachel sat across from Marcus in his office. She did not interrupt.
Aaron said, “What exactly do you plan to say?”
“The video was real. I was afraid. I left without finishing the appointment. The person who shared it was wrong, and I was wrong to build a message that treated fear like something weak people have.”
Rachel’s eyes lifted.
Aaron’s tone sharpened. “That repudiates the campaign.”
“It changes it.”
“Without sponsor approval.”
“It’s my name on the poster.”
“It is Northstar’s money under the poster.”
Marcus leaned forward. “Then decide whether you funded people or an image.”
Aaron breathed through his nose. “Do not turn this into a moral performance.”
“I’m not performing.”
“You are about to broadcast a personal crisis to millions of people while one hundred and twenty children depend on your restraint.”
The sentence was designed to stop him.
It nearly did.
Marcus looked through the office glass. Caleb was helping stack medicine tables for Saturday’s health event. The boy lifted one crookedly, refused help, then nearly dropped it.
Rachel waited.
Marcus said, “The statement goes up at noon.”
Aaron replied, “Northstar will respond as necessary.”
“I understand.”
He ended the call.
Rachel did not praise him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“I always have a face.”
“You think I made the wrong decision.”
“I think you made a decision. That’s new.”
He leaned back. “You could try support.”
“I am supporting you by not pretending it is automatically brave because it is difficult.”
He studied her.
She opened her legal pad. “We need to cut expenses.”
At noon, Marcus sat alone on a bench in the empty boxing area and recorded the statement on Devin’s old company phone.
He tried five times.
The first sounded like an advertisement.
The second sounded angry.
The third blamed Devin too heavily.
The fourth became a speech about his mother that he had not intended to make.
On the fifth, he looked directly into the lens.
May you like
“My name is Marcus Reed. A lot of people know me as Mr. Titan. Yesterday, a video showed me hiding behind my sister because I was afraid of an injection.
“The video was shared without permission. That was wrong, and the privacy of people in the hospital matters.
