The city traffic hummed around me as I left the office building, the earlier scene in the boardroom playing on an endless loop in my mind. My own son. It was 2:30 PM, and my head pounded. I needed a moment to think, to process this new betrayal.
I pulled into a quiet roadside diner, the kind with worn red vinyl booths and the smell of stale coffee and fried food. I ordered a black coffee, not caring about the taste.
As I sat there, trying to make sense of everything, I noticed a man at the counter. He was in a work uniform, dark blue with a patch that read “Industrial Waste Compliance.” Next to his half-eaten burger was a thick stack of papers—municipal incinerator manifests.
My heart lurched. Incinerator.
I heard him muttering to the waitress about “a rush job” for “Bennett Corporate Group.” My entire body stiffened. Bennett Corporate Group. The bears.
“Excuse me,” I said, sliding off my stool and moving towards the counter. “Did I hear you mention Bennett Corporate Group?”
The man, Sam Devins, looked up, a friendly but professional expression on his face. “Yes, ma’am. Odd one, actually. A corporate VP paid a hefty priority fee this morning.”
He gestured vaguely at the stack of papers. “Fifty fabric items. Standard high-heat incineration, 1,800 degrees. Got the call at 11 AM, burning by 1:15 PM sharp.”
My breath caught in my throat. Fifty fabric items. That exact number. The time, so close to when Victoria had given her final orders. It wasn’t just the trash. It was deliberate.
Sam flipped through the manifests, pulling out a specific form. “Never seen such a rush on stuffed animals before. Had to make sure it was all above board, regulatory-wise. Corporate types can be… particular.”
He shrugged, oblivious to the earthquake his words had just unleashed within me. The rage I felt was so cold, it almost felt like clarity. Victoria hadn’t just gotten rid of the bears; she had meticulously orchestrated their complete annihilation.
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