"Basic human decency? You came in here without an appointment, demanded to see our CEO, and now you're having a meltdown because we can't accommodate you."
This is what they do. Wendy knows this. She's read about it, lived it. They push and push until you react, and then your reaction becomes the story, not what they did, what you did.
More employees are gathering. The morning shift is in full swing. There are at least 15 people in this lobby now. And every single one of them is watching Wendy Anderson fall apart.
A voice cuts through the crowd. "What's going on here?"
Connor Hayes, senior supervisor, white guy in his 40s, wearing a button-down shirt and a company lanyard. He has the kind of authority that makes everyone straighten up a little.
Derek jumps right in. "Connor, thank God. This woman has been harassing us for the past 20 minutes."
"Harassing you?"
Ashley nods eagerly. "She came in making demands. Wouldn't leave when we asked her to, and now she's getting hostile."
Connor looks at Wendy, takes in the soda stain, the wet hair, then looks back at Derek and Ashley like he's already decided who to believe. "Ma'am," he says, walking toward her slowly. "I'm going to need you to leave the premises."
"I'm waiting for someone."
"You don't have an appointment. You're causing a disturbance. Multiple employees have complained."
Wendy's voice rises despite herself. "A disturbance? Your employee threw a drink on me."
"That's not what I heard. I heard there was an accident and you overreacted."
"An accident? He called me a black [ __ ] and dumped soda over my head."
Connor's expression doesn't change. "Ma'am, I'm hearing a lot of accusations, but I'm also seeing someone who's becoming increasingly aggressive."
"I'm not being aggressive."
"You're raising your voice. You're making staff members uncomfortable. You need to leave voluntarily or I'll have to call security."
This is it. This is the moment where everything goes from bad to impossible. Derek sees his chance. "She was taking pictures of us earlier on her phone without our permission."
It's a complete lie.
"I saw it, too," Ashley adds immediately.
Brittany nods. "Yeah, she was definitely recording us."
Connor's hand moves to his radio. "Ma'am, if you've been recording employees without consent, that's a serious violation."
"I didn't record anyone."
"Then you won't mind if security checks your phone."
Wendy's breath is coming faster now. She's trapped. If she refuses, she looks guilty. If she complies, she's submitting to a search based on lies.
"I want to speak with Jonathan Reed," she says again. It's the only card she has left. "I'm married to the owner of this company. My name is Wendy Anderson."
The lobby goes completely silent.
Then Derek loses it. He's laughing so hard he has to hold on to the desk. "Oh my god. Oh my god. She's delusional. Married to Mr. Reed?"
Ashley looks at Britany. "Is she serious right now?"
Connor's expression hardens. "Ma'am, making false claims like this is not helping your case."
"It's not a false claim."
"Jonathan Reed is married," Ashley says. She pulls up something on her computer. "I've seen the pictures. His wife is a supermodel. She's been in Forbes, Vogue. She definitely doesn't look like you."
The cruelty in that last sentence lands like a slap.
Brad calls out from the crowd. "Someone call the police. She might be trying to commit fraud or something."
"Good idea," Connor says. He nods at Ashley. "Call them."
Ashley picks up the phone.
Wendy's voice breaks. "Please just wait. He'll be here any minute."
"Lady," Derek says, "This isn't a fairy tale. Prince Charming isn't coming to save you."
The employees are taking more pictures now, more videos. Wendy can see the TikTok captions already. Crazy woman pretends to be CEO's wife. Karen has a meltdown at tech company. Black woman tries to scam her way into building.
She closes her eyes, takes a breath. She's been humiliated before. She's faced racism before, but this—being called a liar when she's telling the truth, being threatened with arrest in her husband's own building—this is a new level.
"Please," she whispers. "Just five more minutes."
Nobody's listening.