Chapter 2

The days following Mrs. Jenkins's dismissal were unsettling. I felt her absence in strange ways, a phantom limb of my daily routine. But more than that, there was a constant, low-grade anxiety buzzing under my skin. I kept expecting something to happen.

My phone rang a week later. It was her.

My first instinct was to ignore it, but a part of me needed to know what she wanted. I answered.

"What do you want, Mrs. Jenkins?"

Her voice was syrupy sweet, a complete one-eighty from the venom she'd spat at me a week ago.

"Sarah, dear. I know we ended on a bad note, and I've been doing a lot of thinking. I was emotional. I was scared. I want to apologize."

I remained silent, skeptical.

"I was just downtown," she continued, her voice bright, "and I saw something that just screamed 'Sarah'. I bought it for you. A little peace offering. Can I just drop it by? It'll only take a minute."

Against my better judgment, I agreed. A part of me was morbidly curious. What could this possibly be about?

Twenty minutes later, my buzzer rang. I let her up.

She stood at my door holding a large, expensive-looking dust bag from a high-end designer. She swept into the apartment as if she still worked here and placed it on my dining table with a flourish.

"Here," she said, beaming. "For you."

I pulled out a beautiful leather handbag. It was a brand I recognized, one I'd casually mentioned wanting a few months ago. I was surprised.

"Mrs. Jenkins, this is... very generous. But you didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense," she waved a hand dismissively. "I wanted to. A small gesture to show there are no hard feelings." She sighed dramatically. "It was quite expensive, I must admit. It set me back nearly five thousand dollars. But you're worth it."

A red flag went up instantly. Five thousand dollars. I knew the brand, and while expensive, that specific model was nowhere near that price. It was closer to two thousand, at most.

"Five thousand?" I asked casually, examining the stitching on the bag. "That seems a bit high. Are you sure?"

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Oh, yes. It's the latest model. Very exclusive."

"I see," I said, my voice cool. "Well, if you're going to spend that kind of money on a gift for me, I insist on paying you back for it. I can't accept something so extravagant."

This was a test.

Her eyes lit up with a greedy gleam that she couldn't quite hide.

"Oh, no, Sarah, I couldn't possibly..."

"I insist," I said firmly. "I'll write you a check right now. Do you have the receipt? Just so I have it for my records."

The light in her eyes died. Panic flickered across her face.

"The receipt? Oh, dear. I think I must have thrown it away. You know how it is, they ask if you want the receipt and you just say no..." Her voice trailed off.

"You spent five thousand dollars on a handbag and didn't keep the receipt?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's not very careful, Mrs. Jenkins. You were always so meticulous with my expenses."

She started to bluster, her face turning red.

"Well, it was a gift! It's different. You're questioning my generosity? After I went out of my way to buy you something so lovely? I thought you were different, Sarah, but you're just like all the other rich people, suspicious and ungrateful!"

She was trying to turn it around, to make me the bad guy. I wasn't having it.

"It's not about being ungrateful," I said calmly, my gaze locked on hers. "It's about honesty. I'm a tech professional, Mrs. Jenkins. I deal with data. Facts. The fact is, you're trying to make me pay you five thousand dollars for a bag that costs half that. You're not trying to give me a gift, you're trying to scam me."

I walked over to my laptop on the kitchen island, pulled up the designer's website, and found the exact bag in less than thirty seconds. I turned the screen towards her.

"See? Nineteen hundred and fifty dollars. Plus tax. Not five thousand."

The color drained from her face. She was caught. The silence in the room was thick with her humiliation and my disgust.

She stared at the screen, then at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. There was nothing she could say. The proof was right there.

The attempted fraud was so blatant, so clumsy. It wasn't about the money, not really. It was about seeing what she could get away with. It was about her feeling of entitlement, that she deserved to take from me.

"I think you should take your purse and go," I said, my voice devoid of all emotion.

She snatched the handbag off the table, her face a mask of fury.

"You and your precious money," she snarled.

"It's not about the money, Mrs. Jenkins," I said, echoing her words from a week ago. "It's about the principle. I don't allow people to lie to me or try to steal from me. Not my friends, not my family, and certainly not my former employees."

I walked to the door and held it open.

"And one more thing," I added as she stood frozen in the doorway. "From now on, you are not to use any of my personal information. You are not to buy things on my behalf or even for me. We have no relationship. Is that clear?"

She glared at me, her eyes filled with a hatred that was chilling. She didn't say a word. She just stormed out, and I slammed the door shut behind her, the sound of the lock clicking into place feeling like a small, necessary victory. I had set a boundary, and I would defend it.