Story code: ST-001281
Part 2: The Blocked Scan
David’s words hung in the humid air of the pavilion. Robert halted a few feet away, his fists clenched at his sides. “That is a cheap counterfeit,” Robert said, his voice raised to cover the murmurs of the gathering crowd. “Claire, do not let him pass. He made that badge himself.”
The relatives began to close in, forming a tight circle around the registration desk. Cousin Donald stepped forward, nodding at Robert. “If Robert says he’s not on the list, he’s not on the list. We don’t need outsiders causing trouble today, David. Just leave.”
Several others murmured in agreement, their faces hardened against David. The weight of ten years of absence was being used against him, channeled through Robert’s loud, authoritative declarations. The crowd’s collective posture shifted, leaning in toward David as if to push him physically toward the exit.
David did not look at the crowd. His eyes remained fixed on Robert. He held the laminated badge closer to the registration desk, placing it flat on the wooden surface right in front of me. “Claire has the registration scanner,” David said, his tone measured and even. “It is connected to the master portal you set up for the reunion funds and guest registry. Let her scan it.”
Robert’s arm shot out, his palm landing flat over the name tag, hiding it from view. “We are not wasting time on this. I am the host of this reunion. I manage the database, and I know who I registered. This man is a fraud.”
I looked at Robert’s hand on the desk. His fingers were pressed down so hard his knuckles were white. He looked up at me, his eyes wide, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “Claire, pack up the check-in sheets. The registration is closed.”
I did not move. My hand remained resting on the optical scanner connected to the laptop. Aunt Sarah leaned closer, her eyes darting between Robert’s hand and the scanner. Robert’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his branded Vance Reunion polo shirt. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but he did not lift his hand from the badge.
David reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, and gently tapped the corner of the laminated badge sticking out from under Robert’s palm. “If it’s a fake, Robert, the scanner will show an invalid code. But if it scans, it will show the IP address and the digital signature of the person who approved it, printed it, and authorized the registration fee from the family account. Why won’t you let Claire scan it?”
The pavilion went completely quiet. The surrounding relatives looked from David’s calm face to Robert’s hand, which was still firmly pinning the badge to the table. Nobody spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the wind rattling the park banner outside. The red laser light of the handheld scanner on my desk blinked steadily, waiting for the code.