Chapter 5 - The Job That Was Supposed To Save Everything
Thursday morning, Michael drove to Brookfield instead of his own office.
The homeowners were there.
So was their attorney.
That should have warned him.
Don Brookfield met him on the back patio.
“Michael.”
“You could’ve called.”
“I did.”
“You called my foreman.”
“Because you stopped answering.”
Michael almost argued.
Then remembered six days without speaking directly.
He looked toward the roofline.
“Show me.”
The damage was real.
Water had worked behind the siding near the addition.
Interior drywall showed staining.
Michael climbed into the attic access with the roofer they had hired for an independent inspection.
Twenty minutes later, Michael came down dirty and quiet.
Don asked:
“Well?”
“The flashing needs work.”
“Needs work.”
Michael hated hearing his own understatement repeated.
“Yes.”
“Your subcontractor won’t return calls.”
“He will when I get him.”
Don folded his arms.
“I hired your company.”
“I know.”
“You recommended him.”
“I know.”
Michael stood in the bright kitchen he had helped build and realized how quickly craftsmanship turns into liability when the wrong part fails.
Don said:
“You told me three months ago you checked this.”
“I did.”
“What did you check?”
Michael remembered standing on a ladder.
Looking.
Feeling the edge with his hand.
Telling himself the concern from one employee was overcautious because reopening that section would cost days they didn’t have.
“I looked at it.”
Don stared.
“So you didn’t test it.”
“No.”
There was no useful defense.
The final eighteen thousand was staying withheld until repairs were agreed.
Maybe part would come later.
Maybe not.
Michael walked outside.
Luis, his foreman, was waiting beside the company truck.
“You knew?”
Luis looked tired.
“I told you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I knew it was worth reopening.”
“Why didn’t you push?”
Luis laughed.
“I did.”
Michael remembered.
Luis had called the roofer sloppy.
Michael told him not every job needed to become a courtroom.
“You said we were already losing money.”
Michael looked away.
Luis continued.
“You said if we tore it open and it was fine, you’d take the hours out of next month’s schedule.”
Michael stared.
“Did I say that?”
“Yes.”
That sounded like him.
Practical.
Efficient.
Wrong.
Luis leaned against the truck.
“My check going through Friday?”
Michael went still.
The company had enough for two employees.
Not all four.
“Michael.”
“I’m working on it.”
Luis nodded.
That was not relief.
“I got an offer.”
“What?”
“Weston Builders.”
Michael stared.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I have a daughter starting college.”
“We’ve worked together nine years.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve told me.”
Luis looked at him for a long second.
Then:
“You keep saying that to people this week?”
Michael stopped.
Luis regretted it immediately.
Not enough to take it back.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Michael nodded.
“You’re right.”
Luis looked uncomfortable now.
Michael asked:
“When do you need to answer?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Take it.”
Luis stared.
“What?”
“Take it.”
“Mike—”
“You need a stable check.”
Luis looked toward the house.
“What are you going to do?”
Michael laughed softly.
“Apparently find out.”
He returned home early.
The landlord’s car was in the driveway.
Ethan stood near the garage.
His backpack still on.
He was watching the landlord speak to Sarah near the front steps.
Michael parked.
Ethan hurried over.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Is he making us leave?”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
That again.
Michael put both hands on his son’s shoulders.
Ethan looked past him.
“You’re selling the work trailer, right?”
Michael frowned.
“How do you know?”
“I heard you.”
“From where?”
“The stairs.”
Of course.
Ethan swallowed.
“If the trailer isn’t enough, I can sell my signed Curry card.”
Michael felt something inside him twist.
The card had been Ethan’s prize possession for two years.
He had kept it inside a plastic case under his bed.
Michael looked at his twelve-year-old son and finally understood that the financial emergency had become a job Ethan thought he was part of.
“Get your backpack.”
“Why?”
“We’re going somewhere.”
“What about the landlord?”
“Your mother can talk to him.”
“What if—”
“Ethan.”
Michael kept his voice steady.
“Backpack.”
Ten minutes later, they were driving away.
May you like
Not to sell anything.
To make sure Ethan couldn’t.
