Four cents. That was the entire merit bonus Miles Keaton received after sixteen unbroken years at Red Haven Turbine Works.

Saturday morning dawned crisp, clear, and bright over the Ohio River valley.

The blizzard clouds were gone, replaced by a brilliant blue sky that made the fresh snow sparkle like diamonds across the hills.

Down at Red Haven Turbine Works, the heavy iron smoke stacks were billowing thick, healthy plumes of white steam into the morning air. The main gates were thrown wide open, and the roaring hum of the CNC milling machines vibrated through the concrete floors of Bay 4 once again.

Inside his windowless office beneath the crane gantries, Miles sat at his heavy steel desk.

The room was clean, bright, and quiet. On his desk rested a brand-new digital measuring console, a gift from the Apex engineering team, alongside his father's wind-up watch and his black leather notebook.

There was a soft knock at his open door.

Jonah Pike leaned against the frame, holding two fresh cups of black coffee from the newly renovated cafeteria downstairs.

"Morning, Mr. Chairman," Jonah grinned, stepping into the room and handing a cup to Miles.

"Don't start that, Jonah," Miles chuckled softly, taking a warm sip. "I'm still just the lead inspector."

"Not according to the sign on the front gate," Jonah smiled, sitting down on the folding chair across from the desk. "They put up the new vinyl banner this morning."

Miles looked toward the door. "What does it say?"

"It says: WORK IS RESPECT, " Jonah said proudly. "No more 'efficiency' nonsense."

Miles shook his head with a quiet smile. "How's the Mark-IX line running?"

"Smooth as silk," Jonah reported. "Bobby's crew finished the alignment on housing number five. Tolerances are within one ten-thousandth. Better than brand new."

"Good," Miles said. "Tell him I'll be down to stamp it at eleven."

Jonah stood up to leave, but paused at the door, looking back at Miles's desk.

Resting on the wooden shelf above the desk mat was a small glass frame that Miles had hung up earlier that morning.

Inside the frame, mounted against velvet blue backing, was the small, printed paper slip from six days ago:

DISCRETIONARY PERFORMANCE MERIT: $0.04.

Jonah looked at the frame, a soft, knowing smile touching his lips. "You kept it."

Miles looked up at the small piece of paper that had almost burned down a seventy-two-million-dollar empire and saved three hundred families in the process.

"I kept it," Miles said softly, reaching out to touch the wooden edge of the frame. "To remind me that some things in this world don't have a price tag..."