Nothing useful.
Then:
Henry Carter automotive systems
Nothing.
She found an old business card wedged beneath the passenger floor mat.
Carter Repair.
Phone.
Address.
On the back, faded writing:
Former systems engineering / electrical diagnostics
Alexandra stared.
She called her security director.
“Run a background check.”
“It's four in the morning.”
“I know.”
“On who?”
“Henry Carter.”
By sunrise, Alexandra knew more about Henry than he knew about her.
Systems engineer.
Dynatech Solutions.
Eleven years earlier.
Prototype energy-control project.
Then abrupt termination.
Blacklisted references.
No new engineering employment.
Warehouse work.
Mechanical side jobs.
Wife deceased.
Daughter.
Alexandra sat alone in her office.
One line bothered her.
Project failure attributed to design errors by lead engineer Henry Carter.
She downloaded the old technical summary.
Read the publicly available fragment.
Then read it again.
The architecture looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Alexandra’s stomach tightened.
Across town, Henry arrived at the warehouse seventeen minutes late.
Clinton Marshall waited beside the time clock.
Arms folded.
Smile ready.
“Carter.”
Henry knew immediately.
“My office.”
“I texted.”
“My office.”
Henry followed.
The room smelled like cheap coffee and printer toner.
Clinton sat.
Henry remained standing.
Power ritual.
Henry had watched it for three years.
“You're late.”
“Highway 47 flooded.”
“You're late.”
“I sent pictures.”
Clinton slid a folder across the desk.
“We're downsizing.”
Henry stared.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Two days ago you asked me to train the new forklift operator.”
“Circumstances change.”
Henry opened the folder.
Voluntary resignation.
He looked up.
“You're firing me.”
“I’m offering you a choice.”
“Sign and leave clean.”
“Or?”
Clinton smiled.
“We document attendance failures.”
“Productivity problems.”
“Disciplinary issues.”
“You leave for cause.”
Henry’s jaw tightened.
“None of that's true.”
“Truth depends on paperwork.”
Henry looked at the resignation.
Bonnie.
Rent.
Two hundred seventeen dollars.
Clinton leaned back.
“You should be grateful.”
“Most people don't get options.”
Henry signed.
He walked out carrying his tool bag.
No box.
Nothing worth packing.
Three years of work reduced to one signature.
He sat inside his pickup.
Hands shaking.
Phone rang.
Bonnie.
He forced himself to answer brightly.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“Mrs. Jenkins made oatmeal.”
“Eat it.”
“It has raisins.”
“Survive.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You sound weird.”
Henry closed his eyes.
“Just tired.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up.
Then the landlord text arrived.
Noon. After that, locks change.
Henry looked at the clock.