Chapter 4: The Box of His Things

On Monday morning I walked into the county road department at seven-forty with an empty banker's box.

The whole crew was already there.

Nobody said good morning.

Somebody had turned the break room television to face the main floor, and it was playing a phone video with the sound on.

I knew the steps. I knew the white flowers and the gold letters on the sign.

On the screen, a man in a work jacket said, "You told me six years."

It was me.

"Four hundred thousand views by last night," the crew chief said quietly. "Somebody posted it Saturday."

"Turn it off," I said.

He turned it off.

Dalton's desk was the one beside mine. It had been the one beside mine for seven years.

He was already in his chair, and he stood up when he saw the box.

"Finbar, don't."

"Sit down."

"Don't quit over this. You're the best engineer in the building. I'll go. I'll put in my notice today."

"You have a daughter."

"I know I have a daughter."

"Then you stay and pay for her," I said. "I'll find another job."

The director's door was open at the end of the hall.

I walked down the middle of the floor with everyone watching, and I knocked on the frame.

The director looked up from a spreadsheet.

"I'm resigning," I said. "Effective today. I know that's not the notice period. I'll forfeit the last two weeks of pay."

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