“If you know, we can start the paperwork next week. I have to get some interviews lined up.” I tap the stack of papers on my desk. “These were for sales, but now I need to find desk candidates instead.”
She smiles, and it wobbles a little. “Thank you,” she says, controlling her voice to sound less emotional than she really is.
We share a handshake and a few more detailed words about what will happen going forward, and when Amy goes back to her desk, I sit at mine, feeling… so fucking good.
There’s a knock on my office door, jolting me from my bubble of happiness.
“Ms. Berry?” a courier stands at the door in all brown, calling my name.
I nod and wave him in. He carries a white folder with him, and I can see it’s one I’ve got to sign for. The man hands me his digital pen and device; I sign, he scans, and then I analyze this white folder and where it came from.
The return address is the same as my address, which means whoever sent this… didn’t want to be tracked? Why else? Grabbing my letter opener off my desk, I slide through the tape and reach inside, pulling out a few folded documents.
Opening them up, a check slides out and crashes into my lap. I lift it up, and my mouth falls open. It takes me several long moments of staring blindly at the check before returning to the letter.
I read it.
I read it again.
And then I shut my office door—still holding the check—and call Beck.
“Hey,” she says, a loud bang sounding off behind her in the background.
“Bad time?” I ask, really hoping she doesn’t say yes because what in the actual hell is going on right now?
“No, Beau and I are just cleaning up the kiln,” she says, breathless, and I wonder if that’s what they’re doing or— “no, you can’t use that in it, no chemicals!” she calls to her husband before returning to our conversation. “How are you? To what do I owe the pleasure of a mid-workday call?”
“One point five million dollars and a letter from Reynold Porter.”
Beck’s end goes silent for a second, then, “what the fuck?”
“Exactly what I’m saying.”
“Details,” she says, and I can tell she’s going somewhere private because the noise around her slowly falls away.
“I just got certified mail at the dealership–”
“How does he know you even work there?” she asks, posing a question that hadn’t even occurred to me yet.
“I don’t know; I hadn’t thought of that yet.” I reroute back to the story. “Anyway, inside was a letter and a check.” I peer into the envelope again and mention the last thing he sent. “And a USB drive.”
Immediately, she knows the contents of the drive without needing me to elaborate.
“What’s the letter say?” she asks eagerly.
“Goldie,” I read, the moment somewhat surreal. I never expected an apology. “I’m sorry. Attached is your severance and the USB to the movies I took without your permission, awareness, or consent. If you ever want to work for the Brutes again, I will not prevent you from doing so. I’m sorry for everything. -Reynold.”
“Wow,” Beck sighs. “That’s… a pretty shitty apology.”
“There is no apologizing for what he did to me,” I say frankly. “There’s nothing he can say that makes anything better in the slightest.”
Beck makes a pensive noise. “Do you feel any different? You know, with the apology, the money….” she lowers her voice, “the footage.”
I stare at the check. “I know I'm entitled to it, and I know it’s mine. But somehow, taking it seems like I’m giving him something, you know?”
“No!” Beck shouts. “Take that money! Even if you don’t spend it on yourself, that isyourmoney, Goldie. Do not let him take it from you twice.”
I nod, chewing my lip as I stare at the check. “I just wonder…. Why now?”