Chapter 24: Mistress

On Friday morning, the yard at Pruden Cold Chain smelled of diesel and coffee.

Four hundred trucks stood in rows with their engines off.

Every driver had come in clean work clothes. Some had brought their kids.

A folding table sat in front of the lead truck, with a white cloth over it and a single pen.

The redhead stood by a tripod at the fence, filming. Her channel counter said 640,000.

She had changed the name of the show. It no longer said Homewrecker.

Nick stood at my left, in a charcoal suit, with the contract folded in his inside pocket.

My father stood at my right, with his glasses on their cord.

Shelby had asked to come. I had told her yes, and that she could stand at the back.

She stood at the back, in her navy dress, with her hands folded.

At nine fifty-eight, my phone buzzed.

I took it out and read the agent's text.

*He pleaded guilty an hour ago. Wire fraud, identity fraud, forgery of a recorded deed, and the pension theft.*

*Sentencing is in the spring. The government is asking for fourteen years.*

I read it twice.

Then I put the phone away.

I had thought I would feel something large.

What I felt was the sun on my shoulders and a dull, steady relief.

"Anything?" Nick said quietly.

"He took the plea."

"Do you want to say anything about it?"

"No," I said. "Not today."

The steward walked to the table.

She picked up a microphone from the back of the lead truck and tapped it twice.

"Morning," she said. "Everyone hear me?"

Four hundred voices answered.

"Last Saturday, you all parked across a gate," she said. "You asked one question. Who do we work for?"

The crowd laughed, and it was a warm, rough sound.

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