Chapter 9 - The Grate
The traffic footage played on Prosecutor Reyes’s tablet with agonizing clarity.
On the screen, Evelyn and Toby were shown approaching the store front. Evelyn’s shoe was damaged, but the sole was still attached by its center strap. In the video, Marcus stepped out onto the sidewalk to sweep the entryway. When Toby asked him for help, Marcus reached down, took the damaged slipper under the guise of inspecting it, and deliberately ripped the strap clean off the footbed before dropping it down the metal stormwater grate at the curb.
Marcus’s face turned the color of damp chalk. “It was garbage. It was already destroyed. I was clearing a tripping hazard.”
“You manufactured a crisis on public property to generate viral engagement for your failing retail business,” Reyes said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. “Your commercial line of credit was defaulted three weeks ago, Mr. Miller. Your bank was preparing to seize this inventory on Friday.”
Greg, the legal advisor, stepped back from the desk, his hands raised in immediate disassociation. “I had no knowledge of this footage, Marcus. My representation ends right now.”
Marcus lunged forward, grabbing Greg’s arm, but Arthur stepped smoothly between them, his large frame blocking the salesman completely. “Sit down, Marcus. Don't make this an assault charge on top of wire fraud and reckless endangerment of a vulnerable adult.”
Marcus collapsed back into his chair, his breathing ragged. “The boy wanted shoes. I gave them shoes! What does it matter how the video started? There’s one hundred and forty thousand dollars in that fund! That money belongs to them!”
“That money is evidence in a criminal investigation now,” Reyes said, sliding a bright red seizure warrant across the mahogany desk. “All assets are frozen pending a grand jury review. Which leaves Evelyn Vance-Miller with zero bail, zero legal defense funds, and a felony concealment indictment waiting for her when she wakes up in the county hospital.”
Marcus stared at the document, his hands trembling violently. “You can’t pin this on me. The public loves this story. If you arrest me, you look like monsters.”
“The public forgets everything in forty-eight hours, Mr. Miller,” Arthur said, turning toward the exit. “They’ll be watching a dancing dog by tomorrow night. But Toby won't forget. And neither will the judge.”
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As the glass door clicked shut behind the investigators, Marcus looked out the front window. Across the street, beneath the flickering neon of the corner diner, three local television vans were setting up their satellite dishes.
The story had broken containment.
