Chapter 2
Two days after Christmas, Hannah sat across from her employer in a converted garage behind a small house on Clinton Highway.
Raymond Cole had owned Cole Building Services for eighteen years.
He looked exhausted.
“I watched the security video.”
Hannah said nothing.
“Forty-nine minutes. Your daughter appears alone in the doorway. Cleaning chemicals nearby.”
“I was eight feet away.”
“I believe you.”
Hannah frowned.
Raymond slid a piece of paper across the desk.
“Then sign this.”
She read the first paragraph.
I, Hannah Mercer, confirm that Ethan Whitmore personally authorized my daughter to remain on the executive floor on December 24…
She stopped.
“He didn’t.”
Raymond leaned back.
“The Whitmore contract is thirty-seven percent of my business. If their lawyers decide we created a liability, I could lose it.”
“So?”
“So eleven people could lose their jobs.”
Hannah looked at the signature line.
“If Mr. Whitmore gave permission, liability changes.”
“He didn’t give permission.”
“Nobody can prove when he first saw you.”
“I can.”
Raymond’s expression hardened.
“Hannah.”
She folded the paper.
“You’re asking me to lie.”
“I’m asking you to protect eleven families.”
“No. You’re asking me to protect your contract.”
She pushed the paper back.
“I brought Ellie. It was my decision. Mr. Whitmore didn’t know. I’m not putting my mistake on somebody else.”
Raymond stared at her.
“You understand I can’t give you shifts until this is resolved.”
“Yes.”
“You’re already behind, aren’t you?”
Hannah’s face burned.
He knew what cleaners made.
He knew exactly how close many were to missing rent.
Hannah stood.
“I’ll find something.”
By Monday, her scheduling app was empty.
She applied at grocery stores, laundries and hotel housekeeping departments.
Nothing happened quickly.
Then Ethan called.
“I heard about your shifts.”
Hannah stood at the kitchen counter, cutting bananas into tiny pieces for Ellie.
“How?”
“Your supervisor called our office.”
Silence.
“We have an employee emergency assistance program,” Ethan continued. “Technically you’re contracted staff, but I can authorize—”
“No.”
“Hannah.”
“He wanted me to sign a statement saying you gave me permission.”
Ethan went silent.
“I didn’t sign it.”
“Why would he—”
“Because then it becomes your problem instead of his.”
“I’ll handle him.”
“No.”
“Hannah, he’s punishing you because you refused to lie.”
“And I’m not taking money from the man whose office I violated either.”
“You didn’t violate—”
“I brought my baby into your building against policy.”
“To keep her from being alone.”
“It was still my decision.”
He said nothing.
Hannah looked toward Ellie.
“I’ll fix the music box.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
She gave him her address.
“Saturday. Ten.”
He arrived exactly at ten.
Hannah let him into the kitchen but no farther.
The table had a cheap vinyl covering patterned with lemons.
Ellie was sleeping.
Hannah opened a worn leather pouch.
Inside were tiny screwdrivers, tweezers and a magnifying loupe.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“My grandfather repaired watches,” Hannah explained. “He taught me.”
She opened the music box.
Her hands, chapped from cleaning chemicals, became surprisingly delicate.
Ethan watched.
“There.”
She pointed with tweezers.
“Broken spring.”
“Can you replace it?”
“Probably.”
That became the beginning of three Saturdays.
Hannah found a replacement spring at Fletcher’s Clock and Jewelry Repair, a narrow shop run by seventy-six-year-old Walter Fletcher.
Walter watched her work.
“Who taught you?”
“My grandfather.”
“Good teacher.”
“Best one I had.”
Walter let her borrow tools.
He also told her he might need help at the repair counter soon.
For the first time in weeks, Hannah imagined a job that didn’t involve cleaning offices after midnight.
On the second Saturday, Ethan arrived with peppermint candy.
Hannah examined the bag.
“This is your company.”
“I bought it at a grocery store.”
May you like
“You own the company.”
“I still paid retail.”
