Then he looked at the wall.
There was a corkboard. Covered in papers. Schedules. Memos. A calendar.
And three printouts.
Pinned in the upper corner.
Photos. Grainy. Screenshots from TikTok.
The same woman.
“Terrence,” I said. “Who is she?”
He looked at the printouts for a long time.
“Pamela Strand,” he said. “She’s been doing this for a year. Going to grocery stores. Restaurants. Coffee shops. Filming the employees. Making them look bad. Getting them fired.”
He pointed at the printouts.
“That one,” he said. “Super One on London Road. Last June. A cashier. She said he shortchanged her. He didn’t. He got fired anyway. The video had two hundred thousand views. Corporate panicked.”
“Super One on London Road,” I said quietly.
Terrence looked at me.
“You know it?”
I didn’t answer.
“That one,” Terrence said. Pointing at the second printout. “A Caribou Coffee in Hermantown. In September. A barista. She said he spit in her drink. He didn’t. They pulled the camera. He was nowhere near it. But by then the video had a hundred thousand views and he was getting death threats.”
