They say the truth has a way of coming out.
But, in our office, the truth was whatever Linda said it was.
She called herself a “truth-teller,” someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, but really, Linda thrived on bending reality just enough to keep herself at the center of attention.
And the worst part? People believed her.
When she started on Sam, I should’ve said something. I should’ve stepped in.
But I didn’t.
And by the time I realized just how far she’d take it, the damage was already done.
Whispers in the Office
Linda had a way of taking over a room.
It wasn’t just her loud laugh or her tendency to talk with her hands; it was the way she positioned herself—leaning in close, lowering her voice like she was letting you in on a secret.
It made you feel like she knew something you didn’t, and you’d better pay attention.
That morning, she was holding court near the coffee machine, her voice just low enough to make people strain to listen.
“I hate to say it,” she said, though she clearly didn’t, “but I saw him myself. Late last Friday. He was stuffing something into his bag—looked like office supplies to me.”
A murmur rippled through the small cluster of coworkers gathered around her.
“Sam?” someone asked, wide-eyed. “You’re kidding.”
Linda shook her head solemnly. “I wish I were. He’s always been a little… sneaky, don’t you think?”
I stood a few feet away, stirring my coffee, trying to pretend I wasn’t listening.
Sam? Sneaky?
The guy barely spoke above a whisper, and the closest thing he had to a vice was organizing his pens by color.
He was the kind of person you’d call dependable, maybe even boring, but sneaky? No way.
Still, Linda’s tone carried an air of certainty, and certainty was her greatest weapon.
By lunchtime, the rumor had spread like wildfire. I overheard snippets in the breakroom, passing comments in the hallway:
“Did you hear about Sam?”
“I always thought he seemed a little off.”
“Stealing office supplies, of all things…”
When I returned to my desk, I found Linda standing by Sam’s cubicle, leaning against the wall like she owned the place.
Sam sat frozen at his desk, his eyes fixed on the monitor, but the tension in his shoulders was impossible to miss.
“I just thought you should know,” Linda said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “HR’s going to want to talk to you. You know, to clear things up.”
Sam turned slowly to face her, his face pale. “I didn’t take anything,” he said quietly.
Linda’s smile didn’t falter.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
But the way she said it made it clear she didn’t believe him—and worse, she didn’t care.
A Sinking Reputation
By the time HR got involved, it was already too late.
Sam was called into the small, windowless conference room everyone dreaded, the one where bad news always seemed to be delivered.
He walked past my desk on the way there, his eyes downcast, his hands clutching the strap of his bag like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Linda watched him go, her expression carefully neutral.
But as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, she turned to the nearest coworker and said, loud enough for half the office to hear, “I just hope he tells the truth. It’s always worse when people lie, don’t you think?”
I bit my lip, glancing around to see if anyone else was bothered by her act. If they were, they didn’t show it.
An hour later, Sam returned, his face even paler than before. He didn’t say a word as he packed up his things, but the way he moved—jerky, frantic—made my chest tighten.
“What happened?” I asked softly as he passed my desk.
He paused, his eyes glassy.
“Suspended,” he whispered. “They found… they found a stash of supplies in my drawer. But I didn’t… I don’t know how…”
His voice cracked, and he shook his head, retreating toward the elevator before I could respond.
Suspended. The word hit me like a slap.
Linda was by the coffee machine again, talking to a small group with that same practiced tone of concern.
“I just feel terrible for him,” she was saying. “But, you know, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
I wanted to march over and call her out, to demand she stop twisting the knife, but my feet wouldn’t move. What if she turned on me next?
The rest of the day passed in a haze.
People whispered about Sam in hushed tones, speculating about how long he’d been stealing, whether this was a one-time thing or part of a pattern.
By the end of the day, his name felt like it belonged to someone else—someone Linda had invented.
As I packed up to leave, I glanced toward her desk. She was still there, typing away with a smug smile, her lozenge tin perched neatly beside her keyboard.
For the first time, I felt something beyond discomfort.
I felt disgust.
Silent Suspicions
Linda was in her element during Monday’s team meeting, her voice slicing through the room like a blade.
She didn’t just lead discussions; she commanded them, peppering every agenda item with her opinions and little asides that kept her the center of attention.
“And of course,” she said, dragging the words out for emphasis, “we’ll need to revisit the supply inventory process. I think we’ve seen how easily things can slip through the cracks…”
Her eyes darted around the room, daring anyone to challenge her. No one did.
I clenched my pen tighter, the plastic creaking in protest.
Every word out of her mouth made my skin crawl, but what could I say? “I think you’re lying” wasn’t exactly actionable.
Then it happened.
Linda reached for her lozenge tin, her fingers deftly plucking one out before tossing it into her mouth mid-sentence.
“Anyway,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “as I was saying—”
Her words cut off abruptly.
For a moment, she froze, her eyes wide and panicked. She clawed at her throat, her face reddening as she stumbled back from the table.
“Is she… choking?” someone whispered.
“Linda?” our manager said, standing quickly. “Are you—”
But Linda couldn’t answer. She gestured wildly, her breathing shallow and strained.
It was chaos after that—people shouting instructions, chairs scraping as everyone scrambled to help.
Finally, Ben from accounting, the calmest person in the room, rushed forward and performed the Heimlich maneuver.
The lozenge shot out and landed on the floor with a wet plop.
Linda gasped, clutching her throat, her face a mottled shade of red.
She tried to speak, but what came out wasn’t a voice. It was a croak.
She tried again, her lips forming words, but only rasping breaths escaped. She waved her hands frantically, shaking her head.
“Take it easy,” Ben said, patting her back. “You probably just strained something. Give it time.”
Our manager nodded sympathetically. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We can handle things here.”
Linda glared at him like he’d just suggested she retire, but she didn’t argue.
She scribbled something on her notepad—“I’m fine”—before storming out of the room, the lozenge tin clutched in her hand like a weapon.
For the first time, the room felt… calm.
The Truth Speaks Louder
Linda’s absence over the next few days was both strange and liberating. The office felt quieter, less tense, without her constant commentary.
She showed up again midweek, armed with a stack of sticky notes and a sharp glare. Her voice was still gone, reduced to scratchy whispers and frantic gestures.
For someone who thrived on commanding attention, it was like watching a bird try to fly with clipped wings.
Without Linda’s chatter dominating the office, people started to talk—really talk.
“Something doesn’t add up,” Ben said during lunch, poking at his salad. “That whole thing with Sam… I don’t know. It just feels off.”
I hesitated, then said, “I saw Linda near his desk the day HR found the supplies. She said she was just dropping off a report, but… I don’t know.”
Ben’s brow furrowed. “You think she planted them?”
The idea felt wild, even saying it out loud. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
Others started chiming in, sharing little details—a coworker who’d seen Linda rooting through Sam’s desk drawers weeks ago, another who remembered her acting strangely when the investigation started.
Piece by piece, the puzzle came together, and the picture it formed wasn’t pretty.
Someone passed the information to HR anonymously. By Friday, the tide had turned.
Sam returned to the office that morning, his suspension lifted and his name cleared.
HR called a meeting to apologize for the mistake, but the real shock came later, when Linda was escorted into the manager’s office for a “discussion.”
She emerged half an hour later, her face pale and tight, her notepad clutched against her chest.
No one knew exactly what was said, but the whispers started almost immediately.
“HR knows.”
“She planted the supplies!”
“Guess the truth came out, huh?”
Linda didn’t look at anyone as she packed her things, her movements stiff and jerky. It wasn’t clear if she was fired, demoted, or just stepping back, but one thing was certain: her reign of gossip was over.
And the irony? She couldn’t say a word to defend herself.
The next week, the office felt lighter.
Sam was back to his usual self, though he carried himself with a quiet caution that hadn’t been there before. He thanked me in the breakroom, his voice low but steady.
“I don’t know who told HR,” he said, “but… thank you. For sticking up for me.”
I nodded, guilt prickling at the back of my mind. I should’ve spoken up sooner. But at least now, the truth was out.
Linda, on the other hand, became the new subject of office gossip. People whispered about her in the hallways, joked about her lozenge tin, and avoided her desk like it was cursed.
She still came in occasionally, her voice slowly returning, but by then, it didn’t matter.
No one was willing to listen to her anymore.
As I sat at my desk one afternoon, watching her shuffle past with her head down, I thought about what she’d always said: “I’m just telling the truth.”
Funny how the truth had a way of catching up with her in the end.