Chapter 3: Chilling Politeness
Around us, the office was terrifyingly silent.
People stared over their monitors, afraid to breathe too loudly.
My assistant, Nina, stood by the copier with tears in her eyes.
The warehouse supervisor had come upstairs for inventory reports and now looked ready to rip the office door off its hinges.
I picked up my box.
“Have a good morning,” I said.
Martin blinked.
He expected pleading.
Anger.
Maybe tears.
He got chilling politeness.
That seemed to annoy him more.
Security walked me to the elevator, looking embarrassed the entire way down.
As I crossed the lobby, I passed the massive founder’s portrait: Arthur Tennant, standing in front of the first factory with his sleeves rolled up and sawdust on his boots.
My grandfather.
Martin walked past that portrait every single day. Continue Reading ⬇️
