The little girl had exactly one dollar and eighty-four cents. She counted it twice on the counter because the first time her fingers were shaking too badly from the cold.

Grant didn't leave. Instead, he stepped further into the cold room, closing the door behind him to keep out the hallway draft.

"I signed a termination report based on an internal audit from Richard Sterling," Grant said, his voice quiet but commanding. "The report stated that forty thousand dollars in meat and dairy shipments were redirected using your authorization code, and that cash kickbacks were traced to your account."

Clara let out a bitter, coughing laugh that racked her frail frame. "Authorization code? Richard Sterling gave me those ledger discrepancies to double-check! I spent three weeks tracking them down. I found nearly half a million dollars in phantom inventory orders going back two years!"

Grant’s eyes narrowed. "Half a million?"

"I took it directly to Richard," Clara said, her voice shaking with righteous fury. "I thought I was doing my job. I thought I was protecting the company! Richard told me he would handle it quietly. Two days later, security escorted me out of the building. They confiscated my laptop, wiped my company phone, and told me if I disputed the firing, they would file criminal charges against me!"

She pressed her trembling hand against her burning forehead.

"They blocked my unemployment benefits," Clara continued, her tears overflowing. "They blacklisted me with every logistics firm in the county. I couldn't pay rent. My health insurance was canceled instantly. I couldn't even buy my daughter shoes that don't leak!"

Grant stood in the center of the bare room, feeling a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the winter weather. He knew Richard Sterling. Sterling had been his Vice President of Regional Operations for six years—a smooth-talking executive who brought in high profit margins and boasted about cutting operational costs.

"Why didn't you request a meeting with me?" Grant asked. "My open-door policy for department heads—"

"Your secretary, Ms. Vance, refused to let me through!" Clara spat back. "She told me Mr. Halden doesn't meet with 'disgraced thieves.' You built a wall around yourself, Mr. Halden. And the men inside your wall are eating people like me alive!"

Sadie whimpered, wrapping her arms tighter around her mother.

Grant took a deep breath. He pulled his smartphone from his coat pocket and dialed a number.

"Who are you calling?" Clara demanded, her voice rising in panic. "The police?"

"No," Grant replied. "Dr. Marcus Vance. He's the Chief of Staff at St. Jude Medical Center." He placed the phone to his ear. "Marcus? I have a medical emergency in East Akron. I need a private ambulance at 1412 Maple Street, Apartment 3B. A young woman with severe pneumonia and high fever. Put her in a private suite under my personal billing. Right now."

Clara stared at him in utter shock. "I can't pay for a hospital..."

"You aren't paying for anything," Grant said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked down at Sadie. "Sadie, open that soup. Eat half, and give half to your mother while we wait."

Grant walked to the window, looking out at the falling snow. His phone buzzed in his palm. It was an incoming call from Richard Sterling.

Grant answered it, his voice dropping into a tone of pure, liquid ice. "Richard."

"Grant!" Sterling’s booming, cheerful voice came through the speaker. "Just checking in. We're finalizing the end-of-year quarterly report for the board meeting tomorrow morning. Everything looks stellar. We shaved another four percent off operational overhead."

Grant looked over his shoulder at the feverish woman lying on a thin mattress on the floor.