Greg Simons filed a wrongful termination suit last month. Jack leaned back in his chair. I know. Legal CCed me on the filing. My attorneys buried him in counter suits for corporate negligence and breach of fiduciary duty, Evelyn stated clinically.
He dropped the case yesterday. He's currently working as a mid-level IT manager at a regional logistics company in Ohio. He had to sell his house. Jack didn't feel a rush of vindication. He just felt an overwhelming sense of indifference.
Greg Simons was a ghost. He belonged to a life Jack didn't live anymore. Good, Jack said simply. Evelyn looked around the austere office. You could have the corner suite, you know.
I authorized the transfer 3 months ago. I like it down here, Jack said. The air is better, less to breathe. Evelyn let out a rare, genuine laugh. It was a sharp, dry sound.
You're a strange man, Mr. Thornton. Most people I elevate to your position spend their first month buying sports cars and redecorating their offices. You bought servers and a dog. I bought a foundation. Jack corrected her.
Sports cars rust. Offices get reassigned. I needed something that wouldn't break. Evelyn nodded slowly. She understood.
She lived in a world of cutthroat impermanence where fortunes were made and lost on a rumor. She respected a man who understood the value of concrete and steel. "Keep the servers running, Jack," Evelyn said, standing up to leave. "Always do," she left the office. Jack watched her walk down the hall, her heels clicking rhythmically on the polished concrete.
He turned back to his monitors. The code was scrolling smoothly. The servers were humming. His phone buzzed again. Dad, can we get pizza tonight?
Jack picked up the phone. He typed back. Only if you finish your homework first. Love you, Bug.
He set the phone down. The radiator in his new house didn't hiss. The floors didn't squeak. The fridge was full.
He looked at the framed photo of his daughter, her bright, unbburdened smile radiating through the glass. Jack cracked his knuckles, pulled his keyboard closer, and went back to work. He wasn't a ghost in the basement anymore. He was the architect, and his house was built on stone.