Aaron’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He livestreamed outside.”
Aaron pulled into a parking area.
Opened the social-media link she sent.
The video began.
Bradley’s face filled the screen.
Parking lot behind him.
Bourbon-red cheeks.
Prescott relatives laughing.
Bradley flipped the camera.
Aaron appeared in the distance, kneeling beside the cardboard box.
Bradley narrated.
“Ladies and gentlemen, accountability.”
Laughter.
“After twelve years of thinking he was irreplaceable, Mr. Young has learned everybody can be replaced.”
The video zoomed toward Aaron lifting Layla’s drawing.
Bradley laughed.
“Look at this.”
“A grown man carrying kindergarten artwork into the office.”
More laughter.
“Maybe if he spent less time collecting arts and crafts and more time fitting leadership culture, things would’ve gone differently.”
Aaron stopped breathing for a moment.
His daughter’s drawing filled the screen.
The cracked glass.
Her purple handwriting.
Millions had not seen it yet.
Only a few hundred.
But shares were climbing.
Two hundred.
Four hundred.
Eight hundred.
Someone in the ballroom had posted the stage video too.
Comments appeared.
What is wrong with this guy?
Was this really an employee award?
Did he just fire him because his nephew needed a job?
Aaron closed the app.
He rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
Twelve years of restraint felt suddenly very heavy.
Not because Bradley fired him.
Not even because Neil said people like you.
Because Bradley had taken the one object in the box that belonged to Layla’s love for her father and turned it into a joke.
Aaron thought about his daughter asleep in astronaut pajamas.
He remembered the afternoon she gave him the picture.
She had hidden it behind her back.
“Close your eyes.”
He did.
“Okay.”
Aaron opened them.
Two stick figures.
One tall.
One small.
Purple letters.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect.”
“You have to put it at work.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Aaron lifted his head.
Then called Richard.
The chairman answered on the second ring.
“I saw it.”
Aaron said:
“Then you know.”
“I know what’s public.”
“The private part is worse.”
“What happened?”
Aaron told him.
Stage.
Todd.
Service corridor.
Wet box.
Neil’s comment.
Richard remained silent for several seconds.
Then:
“What do you want?”
Aaron looked through the windshield.
He wanted Bradley fired immediately.
He wanted Craig out.
Derek.
Neil.
Every Prescott relative.
He wanted the branch dark.
He wanted every badge deactivated.
He wanted the entire system ripped apart before another person could be touched.
Then Reginald’s voice appeared in memory.
Never confuse owning the truck with knowing how to drive every road.
Aaron took a breath.
“Preserve everything.”
“Everything?”
“Email.”
“HR systems.”
“Access logs.”
“Payroll.”
“Termination files.”
“Security video.”