He Lied About Prices to Protect Pride—and the Town Split in Two

No nonsense.

The kind of woman who had probably built a career being more prepared than the men around her and had no patience left for sentiment dressed as principle.

I respected that, even while disliking it.

“What exactly are you asking me?” I said.

“I’m asking whether you’ve been manipulating prices outside policy.”

“Yes.”

Brent straightened like he’d been waiting all year for Christmas.

Lorraine didn’t move.

“At least you’re honest now,” she said.

“Usually am. Just not in the aisle.”

Brent said, “That’s fraud.”

I turned to him.

“No. Fraud is when the lie helps me.”

The room went quiet.

Lorraine tapped the printout with one finger.

“Intent doesn’t erase procedure. Do you realize what this exposes the store to?”

“Probably less than winter exposes a baby in an apartment with no heat.”

Brent muttered something under his breath.

Lorraine ignored him.

“Have you taken money from customers outside normal transactions?”

That question landed harder.

Because now we were near the envelope.

Near the line between mercy and suspicion.

“Sometimes people overpay on purpose,” I said.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is that money kept?”

I looked at her.

Then at Brent.

Then back at her.

“That depends,” I said. “Are you asking like an auditor or like a person?”

“I’m asking as the district manager responsible for this location.”

“Then the answer is nowhere you’ll like.”

Brent actually smiled.

There it was.

That little flare in certain people when they sense the world is finally going to punish someone they never understood.

Lorraine stood.

“For now, you will continue your shift. Do not process discretionary markdowns. Do not handle donations alone. At close, you and I are going through every adjustment from the last ninety days.”

Then she added, “And Mr. Brennan? Do not move or destroy anything.”

Like I was some kind of crook with a shredder in his basement.

I went back to the floor with my ears burning.

For the next two hours, I had to do the thing I hate most.

Nothing.

A woman came in with two little boys and asked about winter coats.

I found one for the smaller boy.

The older one needed a size up.

The coat he wanted was twelve dollars.

She had ten.

I knew because I saw her count it twice with the sideways hand people use when they don’t want their children noticing.

I stood there feeling useless as a decorative spoon.

Brent was at the next register.

Watching.

So I said nothing.

The woman put the bigger coat back.

The older boy shrugged like it didn’t matter.