Every head turned toward Old Simon, who had just walked in from the cafeteria.
Old Simon blinked. Completely bewildered. "Why are you all staring at me? I didn't do anything."
Manager Whitney didn't give him a chance to speak. He lunged at the old man, patting him down roughly. "You think I'd accuse you without proof?"
Seconds later, Whitney pulled the cigar butt from Simon's jacket pocket.
It still reeked of burnt tobacco.
"Caught red-handed!"
Whitney held the evidence aloft, screaming in Simon's face. "Simon Dickerson! You have some nerve! The company explicitly forbade anyone from touching this car, and you dared to smoke inside it?"
He jabbed a finger at Simon's chest.
"You are deliberately destroying company property! I'm calling the police. You're going to jail!"
Old Simon stood frozen. "No... it wasn't me! I smoke ten-buck packs of Red Pagoda. I can't afford cigars!"
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His face went ashen. His breathing turned ragged.
Hudson rushed forward, grabbing Whitney's arm. Playing the benevolent peacemaker.
"Manager, please. Calm down." His voice dripped with fake sympathy. "Uncle Simon probably just had a moment of confusion. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. How about... we let him pay for the damages privately? Don't call the police. He's old. If word gets out, it'll ruin him."
Old Simon shook with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at Hudson.
No words came.
I couldn't watch this charade any longer.
I stepped forward and caught Simon as he swayed, barely keeping him upright.
"Hudson Pruitt."
My voice cut through the noise.
"When you finished your livestream just now, did you forget to turn off the replay function?"
Hudson stiffened.
"Right now, hundreds of thousands of viewers are watching a crystal-clear recording of you holding a cigar in that car." I tilted my head. "Acting like a pretentious clown."
I held up my phone. Hit play.
High-definition footage. Hudson's smug face. The tremble of his hand. Ash falling onto leather.
Crystal clear.
Hudson's face turned deathly pale.
He threw himself at Manager Whitney's legs, hugging his thigh and wailing like a toddler. "Manager! Manager, I was wrong! I didn't mean it! I did it to promote the store! I just wanted people to see our inventory—I had good intentions!"
Whitney glanced at the video on my screen. His expression shifted rapidly.
Calculating.
Then he snatched the phone from my hand and dashed it against the tiled floor.
*Crack.*
The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass.
"What video?" Whitney roared. He pointed a finger at the three of us. "That was obviously faked! You three—you gang up to bully a newcomer, and now you're forging videos to frame him?"
His voice rose to a shriek.
"You are the cancer of this store! Parasites!"
He barked at the security guards nearby. "What are you staring at? Lock these three criminals in the warehouse! They maliciously damaged company property and tried to pin it on a colleague!"
He straightened his jacket.
"I'll deal with them after I contact legal."
The guards exchanged hesitant glances.
"I am the Manager!" Whitney bellowed. "My word is an order!"
Intimidated, the guards moved in. Grabbed us by the arms.
"Jackson Whitney!" Evelyn screamed, struggling against the grip. "This is illegal detention! Are you insane?"
We were shoved into the storage warehouse. The heavy door slammed shut.
The lock clicked.
A moment later, the lights cut out.
Total darkness.
The air was thick with the scent of rubber tires and stale engine oil. No windows. Only piles of junk in the corners.
Evelyn groped for the wall to steady herself. Her voice trembled in the dark.
"They... they actually dared to do this..."
