“And my children need things.”
Her voice grew quieter.
“So I just… make it work.”
Make it work.
A phrase people used when they had no other choice.
I had spent my life around people who complained about losing small luxuries.
June was apologizing for being hungry.
I stood there for several seconds without saying anything.
Then I asked:
“Who hired you?”
“Blackwell Domestic Services.”
My company.
The words landed strangely.
I knew that department.
I had personally approved its staffing budget every year.
Every employee.
Every contract.
Every expense.
“June.”
She looked up.
“Do you know how much the company pays for your position?”
Her brows tightened.
“No.”
I pulled out my phone.
Opened the payroll system. I typed her name.
June Carter.
The screen loaded.
And every part of me went cold.
There she was.
Her name.
Her employee number.
Her official salary.
The amount my company reported paying her.
It was more than twice what she had just told me.
I stared at the figure.
Then refreshed the page.
Maybe it was an error.
A system malfunction.
But the number remained.
I opened another record.
Another payment history.
Another report.
Everything showed the same thing.
The same pattern.
