Lance
The first call came before seven in the morning.
I hadn't even arrived at the office when my phone vibrated on the car dashboard. The Head of Customer Service was calling—something that rarely happened that early unless there was a serious problem.
"Sir, we've logged twelve complaints in the last forty-eight hours regarding the canned beef steak," she began immediately. "Same batch number. Customers are reporting a sour smell upon opening, even though the best-before date is still months away."
I didn't speak right away. I pulled the car over to the side of the road.
"Twelve complaints?" I repeated, my tone sharper now. "Same production run?"
"Yes, sir. Batch code 23B-17."
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Hold distribution immediately. I want a full re
