How a Fourteen-Dollar Yellow Baby Blanket Brought Down a Regional Director
“That’s what the blanket costs.
You pay for the blanket, David, and I’ll take your pen.”
He tapped his gold wedding band on the metal price rail of the shelf next to him.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
“You’ve got about thirty seconds before I run out of patience, Clara.”
“Lane four is open,” I said, turning away from him and walking straight toward the front registers.
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