It’s mid-November, and the office is buzzing with end-of-year activity. Open enrollment is in full swing, with benefits-related questions flooding in from every direction while we handle a record number of renewals and implementations. But despite the lively atmosphere, the feeling that someone is watching me hasn’t gone away. It’s like a shadow hanging over everything as if the masked figure from the Halloween party could step out of the darkness at any moment.
The letter I received a while back stating I was COBRA eligible continues to gnaw at me because I never gave my two weeks' notice or even took the damn job, to begin with.
I tried logging into the COBRA platform again per the instructions in the letter, and it still shows I can elect COBRA, but how could that be? I’m still employed, right?
As I searched my inbox for emails about employment changes, I stumbled across an old chain from a few months ago. It’s from when I explored a potential opportunity with a marketing firm. The whole thing feels like a lifetime ago now. At the time, I’d been weighing my options after getting so popular and considering whether to pursue it seriously, but ultimately, I didn’t follow through.
I don’t think I mentioned it to anyone here, but now I wonder. Could someone have found out about it? Could it somehow be connected to my benefits situation?
A memory flickers—Detective Arnold is in the hospital asking me about the emails. I had almost said "interview" before correcting myself to "interaction." It hadn’t seemed important then, but now, I’m unsure.
Everything is a blur. It’s like I don’t know what is real from fiction…
I shake off the thought. It’s probably nothing—just a coincidence.
I walk over to see Mary in the Compliance department. We play pickleball together on the weekends, and she’s always been upfront with me. I think I can trust her.
If something weird is going on, she might have some insight. I find her in her office, surrounded by paperwork as usual.
“Hey, Mary,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “Got a minute?”
She looks up and smiles. “For you, my favorite character? Always. What’s up?”
I step inside, closing the door behind me. “I got a letter about a qualifying event change. Something about being eligible to elect COBRA.”
“I haven’t made any changes. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Mary’s smile fades as she sets down her pen. “COBRA? That’s unusual. We don’t typically handle those directly in Compliance. But I have recently seen a few accounts flagged for review. There was a system update last month that caused some discrepancies. It’s probably nothing serious—just some routine checks.”
“Discrepancies?” I echo, trying not to sound too eager.
“Yeah, just some accounts flagged for manual review,” she explains a little hesitantly. “Some of it was tied to... let's just say brand protection efforts. Marketing was involved in a few cases, citing concerns about compliance risks.”
“Marketing?” I say, surprised. “Why would they care about compliance with benefits?”
Mary shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know all the details, but I remember there being a push for extra scrutiny on certain employees because of…” She hesitates, then adds, “alignment with brand values.” Her eyes meet mine, and it’s as if she realizes she might have said too much. “It’s probably just standard procedure. You know how Kristen is about keeping everything on-brand,” she adds, with air quotes that feel just a little too emphatic.
I nodded and turned to leave when something caught my eye—a basket of Clarity-branded goodies sitting on her desk. A small postcard lay beside it. The peculiar handwriting was unmistakable. It read: “Thank you for your loyalty.”
A knot twisted in my stomach.
Later that day, I searched through company documents on the shared drive. I came across a memo that aligns with what Mary mentioned.
“Brand Protection and Compliance” discusses integrating compliance measures into the brand strategy. The language is vague, but one section catches my eye: “Ensuring consistency in employee representation and brand alignment.”
It’s not solid proof, but it feels like a thread I can’t ignore. My suspicion is growing—this isn’t just some glitch.
My phone buzzes. It’s Detective Arnold:
Any news? He asks.
I wish my phone were still dead.
