Her handbag, framed photos, and desk decorations sat inside.
“What’s that?”
“Your personal things.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re firing me?”
“Your employment ended this morning.”
“You can’t do that!”
I nearly laughed.
“I own the company.”
“I run this place!”
“No, Sarah. You worked here because I allowed you to.”
The front door suddenly swung open.
Greg marched inside.
“Mom!”
He looked exhausted, angry, and frightened.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Sarah hurried toward him.
“She took the car! She changed the locks! She fired me!”
Greg turned toward me.
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
I reached beneath the counter.
“No,” I said. “I think I’ve finally found it.”
Then I laid several printed account statements in front of him.
Greg’s expression changed immediately.
Barely.
But I knew my son.
I had seen that same face when he lied about broken windows, poor grades, and teenage parties.
