Chapter 4: The Accusation

Chapter 4: The Accusation

The end of the quarter arrived like a holiday. The final Tim Bucks tally was posted, and Alex’s front-end team had shattered every conceivable record, landing just shy of 10,000 Bucks collectively. The victory was so absolute it was almost comical. After distributing the lion's share to his deserving team, Alex was left with his own personal war chest: one thousand, five hundred and forty-two Tim Bucks.

He chose a quiet Tuesday afternoon to claim his prize. With Mike Chen at his side, providing a running commentary like a proud cornerman, Alex approached the sales counter.

"The Aegis X-Caliber," Alex announced to the cashier, Maria, one of his star employees. He gestured to the glowing silver behemoth on its pedestal.

Maria grinned. "Cashing in the spoils, boss?"

"Every last Buck," Alex confirmed.

The process was surreal. Maria scanned the absurdly expensive PC. The register flashed $1,599.99. Then, she began scanning the stack of Tim Bucks vouchers Alex handed her, each one representing a small victory, a moment of connection with a customer. With each scan, the total on the screen dwindled. Finally, she scanned the last one.

The register beeped, and the final total appeared in bright green digits: $0.00.

Mike let out a low whistle. "You magnificent bastard, you actually did it."

Alex took the receipt, a long, flimsy testament to his victory. It showed the full price of the computer, the massive discount from the store credit, and the final, beautiful zero. It was more than a receipt; it was a trophy.

He spent the rest of the day helping Mike haul the massive tower to their shared apartment and setting it up. The glow of the blue neon lights filled their living room, a monument to a game well played.

The call came the next morning, his designated day off. Alex was sitting on his couch, admiring the silent power of his new machine, a cup of coffee in hand, when his phone rang. It was the store. Caller ID: Tim Donaldson.

"Hey Tim, what's up?" Alex answered, expecting a question about scheduling.

"Alex, I need you to come in," Tim's voice was strained, stripped of its usual false cheer. It was flat, formal. "Right now."

An alarm bell, faint but clear, went off in Alex’s head. "Everything okay? It's my day off."

"It's not a request, Alex. Get here as soon as you can. We'll be in the boardroom." The line went dead.

The thirty-minute drive to the store was a churn of possibilities. Had someone messed up the deposit? Was there a major system crash? His mind, always analytical, sorted through potential problems, but none seemed to warrant such a cryptic, urgent summons. He felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach, a feeling he hadn't had since the day Jeff first unveiled the M.U.M.

When he walked through the automatic doors, the store felt different. The usual Saturday energy was gone, replaced by a tense, watchful quiet. Associates who normally would have greeted him with a joke or a nod suddenly found the floor fascinatingly detailed. They avoided his eyes. Something was deeply wrong.

He walked to the back, his footsteps echoing unnervingly in the silence, and pushed open the boardroom door.

The scene inside was an ambush. Tim Donaldson was at the head of the table, looking pale and sweaty, refusing to meet Alex's gaze. At his side, vibrating with a venomous, triumphant glee, was Jeff Morgan.

But it was the other two men in the room who froze Alex in his tracks. They were strangers, both in their late forties, wearing identical, ill-fitting grey suits. They had the blank, impassive faces of professional auditors or, worse, corporate investigators. They sat perfectly still, hands folded on the table, their eyes like camera lenses, recording every detail.

"Alex, thanks for coming in," Tim began, his voice barely a whisper. "This is Mr. Harris and Mr. Cole from Corporate Loss Prevention."

Alex nodded slowly, his eyes flicking from the corporate goons to Jeff’s smug, pinched face. The trap, whatever it was, was sprung.

"Mr. Rider," said Harris, the taller of the two investigators, his voice a gravelly monotone. "We're here to discuss a serious matter of internal theft."

Alex kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. Theft? He'd never so much as taken a paperclip. "I'm not aware of any theft."

Jeff couldn't contain himself any longer. He slapped a piece of paper down on the table and slid it across to Alex. It was a copy of his receipt from yesterday. Jeff’s stubby finger stabbed at the bottom line.

"$0.00," Jeff sneered, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. "Funny how that happens. A fifteen-hundred-dollar state-of-the-art gaming computer walks out of the store, and our registers say it was free. How ever could that have happened, Alex?"

The sheer, audacious malice of it hit Alex like a physical blow. He finally understood. This wasn't about a mistake. This was a frame-up.

"It happened," Alex said, his voice dangerously calm, "because I paid for it with one thousand, five hundred and forty-two Tim Bucks, which I earned legally through a store-wide incentive program that your boss," he nodded at Tim, "personally implemented and approved."

The investigator, Cole, spoke for the first time. "We've seen the report, Mr. Rider. We've seen the frankly impossible number of survey results your department generated. Over two thousand in a single quarter. More than the rest of the store combined. It paints a very compelling narrative."

"The narrative is that my team and I followed the rules of the contest and won," Alex countered, his anger beginning to solidify into a cold, hard diamond of fury.

"My narrative is different," Jeff cut in, his eyes gleaming. "My narrative is that you, as the Front-End Manager, have access to the survey validation system. My narrative is that you and your team conspired to generate fraudulent survey responses, creating over a thousand dollars of fake store credit out of thin air. You then used that fraudulent credit to steal a high-value item. That's not just theft, Alex. That's wire fraud. A federal crime."

The words hung in the sterile air. Federal crime. The stakes had just escalated from losing his job to losing his freedom. This was no longer a petty workplace squabble. Jeff was trying to put him in prison.

The door to the boardroom burst open, and Mike Chen stood there, his face flushed with anger. "What the hell is going on? I heard you called Alex in."

"This is a private meeting, Mr. Chen," investigator Harris said without even turning his head.

"The hell it is," Mike shot back. "I was there. I saw him earn those Bucks. I saw him redeem them. This whole thing is insane!"

"Mike, stay out of this," Alex said, his voice low but firm.

"No! Jeff has been trying to screw you over since the M.U.M. incident, and this is his masterpiece of crap!" Mike pointed at Jeff. "He's a jealous, incompetent worm who can't stand that Alex is better at his job than he is at his!"

"Security will escort you out if you don't leave now," Cole said, his voice flat and final.

Mike looked at Alex, a desperate plea in his eyes. Alex gave a minuscule shake of his head. Beating them with anger wouldn't work. Mike, looking defeated, backed out of the room, leaving Alex alone with the wolves.

Alex looked at the four faces staring back at him. Tim, the coward, already convinced of his guilt. The two corporate suits, impartial and merciless, ready to cut out a cancer to protect the company. And Jeff, the architect of his ruin, practically salivating at the prospect of his complete and utter destruction. He was surrounded, outmaneuvered, and accused of a crime with what looked, on the surface, like damning evidence.

He was trapped. And for the first time, a flicker of genuine fear touched his heart. But as he looked at Jeff’s triumphant smirk, the fear was instantly burned away by a cold, clarifying rage. A rage that demanded not just vindication, but annihilation. He took a slow breath, his mind clicking through files, procedures, and conversations. The smirk on his face, when it came, was one Mike Chen would have recognized instantly. It was the look he got right before he turned an opponent's own weapon against them.

"You've presented your narrative," Alex said, his voice soft but clear as glass. "Now, if you'll allow me, I'd like to present the facts."