She’s injured. Why is she working the floor? Ross’s grin faltered for a split second. Then it returned.
Her? She’s clumsy. Always messing up. Half the reports in this place are on her.
But she begged to stay on the shift, so I let her. You know I’m generous like that. Harold nodded slowly, though inside, every word from Ross’s mouth tasted like a lie.
Generous? No. He’d seen the way Ross sneered. The way the customers whispered.
The way Denise pushed through pain just to keep her dignity. That night, Harold sat alone at the corner booth long after most had gone. His coffee had gone cold, untouched.
He stared at Denise’s cleaning tables with her good hand, still smiling faintly at strangers, even though her eyes looked heavy with fatigue. The old veteran narrowed his eyes. If Ross claimed Denise was the problem, then Harold was going to find out for himself.
And if what he suspected was true, someone in this diner was about to regret underestimating both her and him. The next day, Harold returned to the diner. Same corner booth.
Same black coffee. To everyone else. He looked like the same old veteran, with nowhere better to be.
But his eyes weren’t on the menu. They were on Ross. Ross strutted from table to table, cracking jokes with customers, laughing louder than anyone else.
But the moment Denise walked by, his face hardened. Every move she made, he pounced. If she poured coffee too slowly, he snapped his fingers.
If she wiped the counter twice instead of once, he smirked and muttered about wasting time. Harold noticed a pattern. It wasn’t just criticism.
It was targeted. And when Denise dropped a single fork, Ross shook his head dramatically, telling a nearby table, see what I deal with. Always careless.
Customers chuckled nervously. Not sure if he was serious. Denise bent down, her good hand trembling, cheeks burning.
By now, Harold’s suspicion had turned into certainty. Ross was sitting her up. That afternoon, Harold slipped into the back office under the pretense of looking for the restroom.
The door was unlocked, papers scattered across the desk. His eyes landed on a stack of misconduct forms. Page after page had Denise’s name scrawled across the top.
Each one accusing her of petty things. Spilled drinks. Forgotten orders.
Bad attitude. But Harold had eaten there for months. He’d never once seen Denise act out of line.
He flipped further and found something worse. Cash register tallies that didn’t add up. Every week…
Обсуждение закрыто.