“What?”
“If you go to your normal job…”
“Yes?”
“And the fancy lady really wanted to give you another one…”
“Yes?”
“…wouldn’t that be kind of dumb?”
He stared at her.
“Get out of my truck.”
She laughed.
Then leaned across and kissed his cheek.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
She jumped down.
Ran toward the entrance.
The father watched until the doors closed behind her.
Then he looked at the dashboard clock.
7:21.
His warehouse shift began at eight.
He had thirty-nine minutes.
He put the truck into gear.
Drove toward the warehouse.
And told himself the decision was made.
At 7:46, he turned into the employee lot.
Three black SUVs were parked near the loading dock.
That was unusual.
At 7:47, he saw his warehouse supervisor walking rapidly toward the office.
That was more unusual.
The supervisor never moved quickly unless inventory was falling.
The single father parked.
Climbed out.
The supervisor spotted him.
“Where the hell have you been?”
The father looked at the clock.
“Fourteen minutes early?”
“No, I mean yesterday.”
“What?”
The supervisor pointed toward the office.
“Some corporate people are here asking for you.”
The father stopped.
“Corporate from our company?”
“No.”
“Then why are they inside?”
“I don't know.”
The supervisor lowered his voice.
“There’s a woman in there who looks like she owns half the city.”
The father closed his eyes.
Of course.
The supervisor noticed.
“You know her?”
“No.”
“That was not convincing.”
“I fixed her car last night.”
The supervisor stared.
“You did what?”
“Her car broke down.”
“In the rain?”
“Yes.”
“You stopped?”
“Yes.”
“With your kid in the truck?”
“Yes.”
The supervisor shook his head.
“One day your need to rescue strangers is going to get you killed.”
“Probably.”
The supervisor pointed again.
“Well, this stranger brought attorneys.”
The father’s expression changed.
“Attorneys?”
“Two.”
His suspicion returned immediately.
He walked faster.
The warehouse conference room had been designed for safety meetings, not billion-dollar logistics executives.
A laminated forklift poster hung crookedly on one wall.
Someone had left dry-erase marker stains on the whiteboard.
The folding table had one leg reinforced with duct tape.
The elegant woman from the highway sat at its center as though none of that mattered.
She looked entirely different from the night before.
Dark tailored suit.
Cream blouse.
Long brown hair smooth and dry.
No ivory hat.
No soaked cape.
No helplessness.
Two attorneys sat beside her.
A technical executive stood near a laptop.
The woman looked up when the single father entered.
“You came.”
He glanced at the wall clock.
“I work here.”
She smiled slightly.