The Wesley Community Center was located on a 10th Street cul-de-sac. The November sun was slowly sinking behind the distant horizon, hinting at another magical Arizona sunset. Juan had already been there several times today and cheerfully greeted his haggard co-workers. They instructed him to wait in the queue for his turn at one of the colorful red, white, and blue voting booths he’d delivered that morning.
Then he spotted something unusual.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Juan shouted, his expression deepening to a scowl. Ahead of him were two men hauling in cases of dropbox ballots. They were doing it all wrong. There were rules that weren't being followed. These guys were just shoving boxes beneath some of the folding tables he'd set up for the voting booths.
The two men mumbled something incoherent and ignored Juan as they finished what they were doing and rushed outside. Juan followed them and saw they were driving the same kind of Maricopa County delivery truck he’d been driving all day. “That’s not right!” He had to inform the site’s Team Lead.
"What seems to be the problem?" A tiny, wizened lady approached him. She seemed more alarmed by Juan's outburst than the accusation of voter integrity discrepancies he reported.
“Those guys!” Juan pointed at the rapidly retreating truck. “I don’t think they’re really election workers. They didn’t follow the rules.”
The Team Lead’s name was Sarah O’Neill, and she was clearly overwhelmed, “Well, maybe it’s just some sort of misunderstanding?” But there was also a spark of fire in her eyes.
Juan thought of the things his Tio Pablo had told him about the elections. “No! You gotta call somebody. This isn’t right. What’s in those boxes?”
"All right, I'll call," Sarah said, setting her jaw in a determined line. "If any shenanigans are going on here, I'll get to the bottom of it!"