The daughter pulled her blanket to her chin.
“Okay.”
He returned to the shelter.
The chairwoman asked:
“Found your contraband?”
“Apparently I run a criminal organization.”
“I know good auditors.”
“That is no longer funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
He smiled.
Then his expression became serious again.
“What happens now?”
The woman knew he meant more than transportation.
She folded her hands.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“My security driver takes me back.”
“And me?”
“You go home.”
He nodded.
“And tomorrow?”
“I verify your employment record.”
His shoulders stiffened.
She continued.
“I review every maintenance report associated with the discontinued routes.”
“Customer-service recordings.”
“Accessibility complaints.”
“Call-center routing information.”
“Vehicle maintenance logs.”
“Board packets.”
“Then?”
“If people lied, I find out how far it goes.”
“And if it reaches the top?”
The chairwoman’s mouth tightened.
“Then the top becomes uncomfortable.”
The single father almost smiled.
But something bothered him.
“You said if they offered my job back, I could decide.”
“Yes.”
“I already decided.”
“You said no.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I heard you.”
“You’re not going to offer it?”
“I may.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because correction sometimes requires making an offer even if the person has every reason to refuse.”
He thought about that.
She continued.
“But I will not pretend rehiring you repairs everything.”
“Good.”
“Would you consider something else?”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
He laughed softly.
Then headlights appeared at the far end of the road.
A black sedan slowed.
The chairwoman tilted her head.
“That’s my security.”
The single father looked.
A tall man in a raincoat stepped from the vehicle.
He did not rush.
He approached until the chairwoman said:
“I’m fine.”
The security officer nodded.
Then glanced toward the single father.
The father immediately raised both hands slightly.
“Relax.”
The chairwoman said.
“He stopped because the company stranded me.”
The security officer’s expression changed.
He knew exactly what that meant.
“Ma’am?”
“Route 63B.”
The man looked toward the dead shelter.
Then at his phone.
“That’s listed active.”
“I know.”
The single father let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
The security officer looked at him.
The chairwoman said:
“He used to maintain the fleet.”
The security officer nodded once.
No questions.
Professional.
The chairwoman stood.
She unfolded her white cane.
The single father instinctively moved.
Then stopped himself.
She heard.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For remembering not to grab me.”
He smiled faintly.
“You told me choice matters.”
“Yes.”