The Newspaper Clipping
It was a quiet Tuesday morning when Mr. Peterson, one of our most loyal customers, shuffled in with his usual order and something extra tucked under his arm.
‘Thought you might find this interesting, Cathy,’ he said, sliding a folded newspaper clipping across the counter. There, in black and white, was Becca’s face—not smirking into a phone camera this time, but in a mugshot.
The headline read: ‘Former Marketing Executive Indicted on Embezzlement Charges.’ I felt a strange mix of emotions wash over me as I read how she’d apparently been siphoning company funds to maintain her influencer lifestyle at her new job.
The article mentioned she was facing up to five years if convicted. ‘Karma’s quite the barista, isn’t she?’ Martha quipped when I showed her later. I didn’t feel the vindictive joy I might have expected. Instead, I felt something lighter—closure.
That evening, I pinned the clipping to my office bulletin board, not as a trophy, but as a reminder that the universe has its own way of balancing accounts.
Some mornings, when I’m opening up and the first pot is brewing, I glance at that clipping and think about how differently our paths turned out. Becca chased status and shortcuts; I built something real.
As I pour myself another cup, I realize that justice doesn’t just taste sweet—it tastes like fresh coffee and peace of mind. What I never expected, though, was that this wouldn’t be the last I’d hear of Becca.