Jack didn't argue. There was no point. Greg had the ear of the executives. Jack was just the guy in the basement. He walked to his metal locker.
He pulled out his worn winter coat, a framed photo of Kloe with chocolate ice cream on her nose, and a small, heavily encrypted USB drive he had kept hidden under a false bottom in his toolbox for 6 years. He slipped the drive into his pocket. He walked out through the loading dock. It had started to rain a cold, miserable, stinging drizzle. Jack stood by his car, the cardboard box getting soggy in his hands.
He unlocked the door, threw the box in the passenger seat, and gripped the steering wheel. He sat there for a long time. The windshield wipers weren't on. The rain blurred the world outside until it looked like a gray, smeared painting. He had lost the insurance.
He had lost the income. A heavy, suffocating weight settled in his chest. It wasn't sadness. It was pure distilled panic. He didn't know how he was going to buy groceries next week.
He didn't know how he was going to look his daughter in the eye and tell her they were going to lose the apartment. He rested his forehead against the cold steering wheel. He allowed himself exactly 1 minute to break down. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged in the empty car. 60 seconds later, he opened his eyes, turned the key in the ignition, and drove into the rain.
Jack didn't sleep. He spent the night sitting at the wobbly kitchen table, bathed in the blue light of his laptop. He updated his resume. It looked pathetic. Senior maintenance technician didn't exactly open doors in a city flooded with 20some tech prodigies willing to work 80 hours a week for stock options.
He looked at warehouse jobs, delivery driving, anything that paid cash quickly. At 6:00 a.m., the radiator began its dying lung hiss. Jack closed the laptop. He walked into the kitchen and started making oatmeal. It was cheap, it was filling, and it didn't require milk.
Chloe padded into the room, rubbing her eyes. Dad, why are you awake so early? Just getting a head start on the day, Bug. Jack forced a smile, bringing her a bowl. Eat up.
We have to walk to school today. Cars acting up. He didn't want to waste the gas. Okay, she said brightly. She didn't complain.
She never complained. Jack was standing by the sink washing his coffee mug when the apartment walls actually vibrated. It was a low, guttural rumble, like a localized earthquake. Jack frowned, looking out the narrow window above the sink that overlooked the building's front parking lot. The lot was usually filled with rusted sedans and abandoned shopping carts.
This morning, a black SUV had just jumped the curb, its massive tires crunching over the broken glass and gravel. Then came a second one, then a third, then a fourth. Four identical, heavily armored Cadillac Escalades, idling in a perfect tactical formation around the entrance of his crumbling apartment building. Their windows were tinted, pitch black. Jack went rigid.
His first thought was collections, but debt collectors didn't drive custom armor. His second thought was the USB drive in his pocket. Doors opened in unison. Men in dark suits stepped out, earpieces curled tightly around their necks. They didn't look like corporate security.