The Light We Build When the Applause of the Crowd Fades
“Okay,” Marcus said. “Okay. I’m calling our contact at the bank now. Maybe we can get a human being to override the automated freeze.”
“He won’t be in the office until eight,” Derek said. “We have eight hours.”
“I’ll meet you at the office,” I said. “We need to draft a contingency plan for payroll.”
“I’m already here,” Derek said. “I’ll make some coffee.”
I closed my laptop and slid it back into my leather bag.
The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, purple shadows across the stone arches of the Quad.
I walked back to my car, my keys heavy in my hand.
The drive up the peninsula was quiet, the headlights of the oncoming traffic on the 101 blurring into a long stream of white and red.
I kept thinking about my father.
He had looked so small the last time I saw him at Sunday dinner, sitting at the end of the long mahogany table while my mother talked over him.
He had spent his whole life avoiding her anger.