I never went home that night. I sat in the glass office atop Hartley Construction while Lily slept on the couch under my jacket, and I opened the payroll file I had avoided for eight years. Forty-seven names, including Gerald Prescott, his sons, and many cousins, all paid triple what their work was worth. Every one had mocked me, and every one had cashed my checks. I signed each letter and my hand never shook.

Three days later, the letters sat on every desk before eight. At 8:20, my phone lit up with Megan’s name, and her voice came out small and cracked. “Ryan, why is my father shouting that his badge stopped working?” Behind her, the yelling suddenly stopped. In the silence, I heard paper rustle, and a man slowly read my name from the bottom of the page, like he was seeing it for the first time.