Chapter 12
Carla set a small recorder on the marble table and asked if I was okay with it running. I said yes. The silver terminal had been moved to the side, turned off, tagged with a little paper evidence tag that said TERM-02. The schedule with MAYA COLLINS at the top and the yellow 15:00 and 15:07 stayed in the middle, but now it was in a clear plastic sleeve. Marcus stood by the paneled wall, arms crossed, not hovering, just there.
"We need a formal statement on the record," Carla said kindly. "Not because you're in trouble. Because you were affected. Use your own words. What happened, in order."
My mouth was dry. I took a sip of the coffee Marcus had brought at seven forty-five. It was cold now. I started at the beginning because that's what my handwritten paper had done.
Three nights ago, the supervisor stopped me by the elevator at the end of my day shift. He handed me the folded white cloth and the single schedule sheet. He said Miss Olivia had approved extra coverage and I was on nights again. I didn't see Olivia - she was in New York all week. I didn't ask to see an approval. I needed the hours. My rent slip was on my counter and the gas notice was right under it. I said okay.
The second night was the same, just later. I wiped the marble table at fourteen fifty-five, did the restrooms, came back. He was at the table with the terminal. I thought he was doing inventory. I kept cleaning. At fifteen hundred I sat for just a second because my legs were shaking and then I was out. I woke up an hour later to his voice telling me good job.
The third night was yesterday. The video day. I remembered the cloth under my arm, the paper half under my elbow, the three men standing around me when I woke up. I remembered Marcus saying, "Nobody touches her. I want to know why she can't stay awake first," and thinking I was in trouble for sleeping on the job.
"Did you ever enter Miss Olivia's code or press the green button on the silver terminal?" Carla asked.
"No," I said. "I never touched it. I didn't know the code was hers until yesterday."
"Did you sign the volunteer overtime sheet for those nights?"
"No. The signature on it isn't mine. Mine is small and tight. That one was loopy."
Carla slid the volunteer sheet across - the forgery - next to my own handwritten statement in the plastic sleeve. The difference was obvious even upside down.
"Were you told you could decline the extra shifts without penalty?" she asked.
I paused. The recorder hummed.
"No," I said honestly. "He just handed me the paper and said keep working. I didn't feel like I could say no. I also didn't ask. I should have asked."
Marcus spoke from the wall. "That's on management to make clear, not on you to guess."
Carla nodded and noted it. "What do you want to happen now?"
I thought about the bills still stacked under my keys at home, about the bus ride at seven forty-five where I'd decided to come back anyway. I didn't want to sound vengeful. I wasn't.
"I want the hours to be real," I said. "If I work, I want it approved honestly, with my name and my code if I have one, not someone else's. And I want to be able to say I'm tired without losing my job." I touched the edge of the plastic sleeve. "And I want the back pay if those nights count, but not if it means I have to pretend this was okay."
Carla stopped the recorder. "That's a measured statement. Thank you. From HR's side, here's what happens next: the supervisor is suspended pending review. His bonus for coverage is frozen. The code 4472 is reset and Olivia will re-issue only to herself when she's back. Your time will be corrected - those thirty-six hours will be paid at the proper rate, and the yellow highlighted times will be struck from your record as assigned overtime. They were not voluntary."
I felt my eyes sting, but I didn't cry. The warm overhead spots made the marble shine.
"One more thing," Carla said, sliding a form toward me. "You can stay on this floor with a corrected schedule, or transfer to days on another floor with a different supervisor. No penalty either way. Take a day to decide."
I looked at Marcus. He gave me a small nod, not telling me what to pick. Outside the paneled walls, the office was quiet. No one was pressing green. The table was just a table again.
May you like
"I'll stay," I said after a second. "But with transparent scheduling. I want to see the sheet before it's approved. And I want to leave at fifteen-oh-seven on time when I'm supposed to."
Carla smiled for the first time. "That's exactly what the new system will do."
