A battle of fragile egos ensued, both men unwilling to yield. Eleanor stood quietly behind them, her hands resting calmly on the strap of her satchel, observing the collision of arrogance and petty authority with the detached interest of an anthropologist studying a primitive dispute.
Chapter 3: The Arrogance of Youth and Authority
"Listen to me very carefully," Mr. Rolex said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, condescending whisper. "My time is billed at six hundred dollars an hour. Every minute you keep me standing here is costing my client money and delaying the wheels of justice. I am bypassing this circus."
Marcus’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. "The only place you're bypassing to is the back of the line if you don't follow instructions. Belt. Bin. Now."
With an exaggerated, theatrical groan, the lawyer ripped off his designer belt and tossed his phone into the plastic bin as if he were throwing garbage into a dumpster. He stormed through the metal detector, which immediately began flashing and beeping furiously.
"Step aside. Random screening," Marcus said, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He grabbed a handheld wand and began passing it over the infuriated lawyer, taking agonizingly slow, deliberate sweeps.
Eleanor waited patiently. She had already taken off her watch, placed her small set of keys in a tray, and had her satchel unbuckled and ready for inspection. She simply wanted to pass through and begin her day.
Finally, Mr. Rolex was released from his torment. He snatched his belongings from the belt, shooting venomous glares at the security staff, and stomped off toward the elevators, leaving a wake of hostility behind him.
Now it was Eleanor’s turn. She stepped up to the conveyor belt and gently placed her satchel in a bin, followed by her beige trench coat and her small tray of metal items.
Marcus, still vibrating with leftover adrenaline and frustration from his encounter with the lawyer, turned his irritable gaze upon Eleanor. He looked her up and down, taking in her practical shoes, her lack of makeup, and her unassuming knit sweater. To Marcus, she was a nobody. She was just another confused citizen clogging up his checkpoint.
"Hurry up, ma'am, let's go," Marcus snapped, clapping his hands loudly. "We're holding up the line. Laptops out."
"I do not have a laptop with me today," Eleanor said softly, her voice polite and melodic.
Marcus frowned, clearly annoyed that she wasn't fitting into his automated routine. He grabbed her worn leather satchel and yanked it aggressively toward him, nearly knocking it off the table.
"What's in the bag?" he demanded, not bothering to look her in the eye.
"Just some case files, a notebook, and my lunch," Eleanor replied calmly.
"Yeah, well, we have to check everything," Marcus muttered disrespectfully. He unceremoniously unbuckled the satchel and began rooting through her carefully organized papers with careless, heavy hands. He pulled out a thick stack of legal briefs, bending the corners as he shoved them back in.
"Sir, please be careful with those documents. They are confidential," Eleanor said, her tone remaining even, though a hint of steel underlined her words.
Marcus stopped and glared at her. "Listen, lady. I do the checking here. If you've got a problem with how security is run, you can take it up with building management. Otherwise, keep quiet and let me do my job. You people come in here thinking you own the place."
He roughly shoved her bag through the X-ray machine and gestured toward the metal detector. "Walk through."
Eleanor walked through the archway. Silence. No beeping.
"Step aside," Marcus commanded abruptly.
Eleanor blinked. "I beg your pardon? The machine did not alarm."
"I said step aside. Random screening," Marcus barked, asserting his dominance over the quiet woman, perhaps trying to regain the pride he felt he lost to the lawyer earlier. "Arms out."