Chapter 7: Three Hundred and Eleven

Allison's POV

On Monday morning, there was no breakfast on the table.

I stood in my own kitchen in my heels and stared at the empty place where his plate always sat.

His coat was gone from the hook, and his key was on the table.

I told myself he was making a point.

Russell made a point about once a year, and it never lasted past the weekend.

I drove to the office early and stopped at the front desk.

"Has Russell Kemper's badge been reactivated?" I asked the receptionist.

"He resigned, Ms. Draper. Kayla processed it Saturday."

"I never approved that."

"She said it was accepted in the ballroom."

I went up to my office and shut the door.

I had one plan, and it was simple.

I would find a real mistake in Russell's last quarter, something small and documented.

Then I would dock his final paycheck and call him in to sign the correction.

He would have to come back to sign it, and when he sat across from me, I would talk to him.

I pulled his shipment logs and read for forty minutes.

I found nothing.

Not one error was his.

Every late delivery and every damaged pallet and every scanner fault traced back to someone else's desk.

In the margin of one report, in Russell's neat hand, was a note.

*Covered for the Route 4 driver. Don't flag him, his wife is in the hospital.*

I read it twice.

Then I pulled the whole file of mistakes I had punished him for over six years.

It was a thick pile.

I opened the pay records beside it.

My signature was on every docked line.

I counted them with a pen, and my hand started to shake.

Three hundred and eleven deductions.

I added the column twice, and the total was $41,860.

My own husband had paid for every mistake in the company, out of his own pay, because I had said it was the only fair thing.

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