The cashier at register 3 kept turning her face away between scans so nobody would see her cry. When the man buying orange juice and crackers asked if she was all right, she apologized and said her four-year-old daughter was in the hospital — and her paycheck had been “late again.” He looked like an ordinary customer in a gray jacket. By the next morning, one quiet answer in the manager’s office would tell him exactly what had been happening inside that store.
Andrew Ruiz changed in the back seat of his town car three blocks from his own store on the east side of Columbus, folding his tailored navy suit across the leather and pulling on faded jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a gray zip jacket borrowed from one of his security men. He slipped off…
