Dana has walked for so long that the bottom of his shoes are starting to wear out. From sunrise to sunset, he carefully tucks a few copies of his resumes in his backpack.

  Some days, he is lucky to spare enough change for the bus fare. Other times, he walks down on the side of the highway, past the grassy medium from where cars sped to and from, causing leaves to fly and land in his hair. For every single restaurant or store he steps into, he ends up leaving with his head low. He tries to hand out his wrinkled resumes to those who he is able to snag an interview with, only to be sent out once more.

  Uncle John has stopped giving him a ride to his job at the airport, so he ends up walking there. He only makes twelve dollars and fifty cents an hour, and carefully deposits each check at the ATM machine. But Uncle John shakes his head whenever he comes through the front door, covered in dust and pollen, with the folded bills he places on the table.

  It is a rainy Thursday afternoon when Dana walks through the overgrown grass leading up to their trailer. His face is and janitor uniform is drenched with sweat, and he glances down at his meager paycheck. Uncle John is sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette. Charlie is fast asleep on the porch, his tail slightly thumping against the ground.

  Dana stands in the middle of the yard. His damp hair is plastered to his face, and he holds out the cash for his uncle. Uncle John snatches it, counts the bills. He continues to smoke his cigarette, taking another puff.

  Thunder rumbles above.

  Dana is shivering. His stomach is grumbling—all he has had today is half a ham sandwich. He can smell something cooking inside from the kitchen. He begins to head up the steps, but Uncle John blocks his path. He roughly shoves him back with both hands, causing his nephew to nearly lose his balance.

  “Where you think you going, boy?”

  Dana gives him a questioning look.

  Uncle John clears his throat. “This ain’t your place. You not contributing enough. So you best go back to wherever you come from.” He tosses his cigarette to the ground. “You forget, didn’t you? Your three months are up.”

  Lightning flashes above. Dana flinches, trying to come up the steps again. This time, Uncle John strikes him against the jaw. Dana lands sideways in the mud, pain shooting across his face. His breaths are heavy as Uncle John’s shadow falls over his. His fists are balled up.

  ”You’re a failure, you know that? Using my electricity, my water. My gas. My food. How dare you come back here with a few measly dollars. You don’t deserve none of this.”

  Dana slowly gets to his feet, halfway drenched in freezing mud. Uncle John is coming closer. His eyes are pitch black. It is raining so hard that it getting hard to see.

  “I got a real nice offer,” Uncle John continues. “Let’s call it—a promotion, shall we? It’s just enough to send Claire to private school. To keep your mother on life support. And I actually earned it, boy.” He stays still. “Now get off my property. Or I’ll call the cops.”

  Water drips from Dana’s hair and face.

  ”Did you hear me boy? I said, git!”

  Dana can see Claire watching them from the doorway, holding her stuffed animals. Uncle John gave her a warning look. Her face is red and splotchy. Dana rushes towards her, but Uncle John has him on the ground again, delivering another blow. His nose and mouth are bloody, but he tries to drag himself across the yard. He just has to get to her. If Uncle John didn’t want him to stay, that was fine. But he couldn’t go anywhere without his little sister. He couldn’t leave her behind with him.

  Dana tries to scream, Claire.

  Nothing comes from his mouth.

  There is a clicking sound. He realizes he is looking down the barrel of a rifle. Uncle John is holding it directly below his chin. His fingers are shaking around the trigger. Claire runs behind the door and slams it shut. Somehow, Dana has gotten to his feet. But as a gunshot goes off, he takes off running, the thick puddles sloshing around his ankles. He hears Uncle John’s threats, but does not stop sprinting. He disappears into the darkness.

  * * * * * *

  Jeff Tunsa reluctantly gets out of his car and opens up his umbrella. Anna Maria has been receiving a lot of tropical storms lately, and he can’t stand another day of rain. As he enters through the building’s office doors, he walks up the stairwell. A familiar feeling of dread settles over him once he enters the office.

  Silas gives him a welcoming nod, before typing furiously on his computer, similar to what everyone else is doing. Cheryl is bent over a shredder, going through folder after folder. Jeff sees that his computers and keyboard are missing. After setting down his briefcase and coat on his empty desk, he walks towards the conference room, only to freeze. The entire room reeks of marijuana.

  Four young men are sitting at the long table, which is completely covered in snacks and Chinese takeout. They shout as they continue to work their fingers against their video game consoles at lightning speed on the presentation board. The sound of gunfire echoes in the office—Jeff can make out the PlayStation plugged nearby the computer.

  Ellison is heavily kissing a woman sitting on his lap. Surprisingly, he is dressed in a button down shirt and jeans—not too terrible for the office policy, but has a backwards Lakers cap on his head. It takes them both five minutes to realize that Jeff is watching. A smirk crosses Ellison’s face, and he whispers something in the woman’s ear, causing her to giggle, before she stands up and gives Jeff a wink. Ellison slaps her behind as she saunters off the office kitchen for some snacks, before crossing his legs in his seat.

  Jeff glares at him. “What the hell—”

  ”You’re late, y’know.” Ellison rises to his feet and takes a bite of fried chicken. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” Bewildered, Jeff checks his watch. “It’s nine ‘o’clock.”

  ”Exactly,” Ellison snaps. “You were supposed to clock in at seven thirty this morning.” He leans against the wall. “I’ll let it slide this time. But if this happens again, I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go. So get out of here, won’t you?”

  “Let me go?” Jeff’s mouth dropped. “You didn’t even send out an email saying that our hours changed. How was I supposed to know? I usually work from nine to five.”

  ”Well,” Ellison murmurs, still chewing, “now you know.” He holds out a chicken bone. “Oh, by the way, I had a little conversation with HR. You’re no longer the director of marketing and managing affairs—or the director of anything. But the bathroom needs to be cleaned up. And I’m pretty sure Aaron dropped some ice cubes by the fridge earlier, so you can pick those up. You can also take out the trash.”

  Jeff’s face turns red. “You can’t—”

  ”Oh, I can’t?” Ellison’s blue eyes flashed. “I can do whatever the hell I want. You’re pushing my buttons, aren’t you?” He snaps his fingers. “There’s a broom and some cleaning supplies in the closet. So I would get started.” He tilts his head to the side. “Unless you want to still have a job.”

  ”But where are…,” Jeff swallows hard. “Where are my computers? I need those. They have all my work files on them.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Computers?” Ellison chuckles. “You don’t need any computers.” He pushes past him and heads towards the office kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt. The young woman is leaning against the table, giggling. Ellison abruptly scoops her up in his arms, before kicking the door shut with his foot.

  In a daze, Jeff stands in the hallway, before retrieving to his desk. He slumps in his chair, gazing at Donovan’s and Max’s empty office for a moment, before slipping his laptop out his backpack. There are some heavy footprints, and Cheryl suddenly appears in front of him. Her eyes are red and puffy, and strands of her hair, which are usually gathered in a neat bun, and strewn all over the place. She places a large folder in front of him.

  ”I just spoke to one of our investors on the phone,” she says in a hurried tone. “Seven-hundred thousand dollars are missing from one of our accounts. The money just vanished overnight.” She raised her hands. “We are in already in enough debt as it is.”

  ”It’s just one account, right?” Jeff asks.

  ”As of now, yes. Someone must’ve hacked into our system. We don’t have any IT people left to troubleshoot. They were all let go.” She raises her hand to her mouth. “I can’t—”

  ”We’re…we’re going to be fine,” Jeff quickly replies, even though his head is spinning. “We can recover. We just—”

  ”I don’t think you understand,” she snaps. “I’ve been getting one angry call after another from each shareholder. They’re saying that we’ve violated our contracts with each of our vendors and four of our main diamond mines in Botswana and Namibia.” She points to two papers on the desk. “These are cease and desist letters. They’re filing a derivative lawsuit.”

  Before Jeff could reply, one of the men burst out of the conference room. He’s on the chubbier side, with a beard and mustache. He is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He loudly laughs they stare at him. “Yo, I’m starving. Why hasn’t anyone ordered lunch yet?”

  ”It’s literally nine in the morning, Aaron,” Cheryl says. “Can’t you wait a while?”

  He makes a sound with his teeth, before his gaze falls on Lisa, who is quietly typing at her desk behind Jeff. Her dreadlocks are pulled back into a ponytail, and she tugs at the edge of her blouse. Beads of sweat come down her face as Aaron slinks over with a grin.

  ”Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “Didn’t know they hired cute girls like you.” He tilts his head. “Why don’t you come and join me in the conference room?” He places a hand on her arm. “C’mere, baby. Let’s have a little fun.”

  Jeff rushes to his feet and grabs his wrist. “Back off.” His gray eyes narrow. “Now.”

  Aaron’s gaze hardens. “I wouldn’t do that, old man.”

  Lisa scrambles to her feet.

  ”Look,” Jeff says, “You can do a lot of things around here. But harassing my intern ain’t one of them.” He stands directly between them. “Leave her alone. I mean it.”

  Aaron sticks his tongue into his cheek for a moment, as if contemplating something. Suddenly, his fist connects with Jeff’s face, causing him to slam against the floor. Cheryl gasps as he begins laying one punch after another. Lisa desperately tries to beat away with him her fists, but he only ends up shoving her to the side. Jeff grunts and coughs, his shirt stained with blood. There is hooting and laughter from the conference room as a couple of guys film with their phones.

  A shooting pain settles up Jeff’s arm as Aaron’s shoe smashed against it, causing a gruesome snap. Cheryl raises a chair.

  ”Enough,” she yells.

  ”You’ll order my food, won’t you?” Aaron replies, winking at her. With a smile, he raises his hands before heading back behind the glass doors of the conference room. “Keep that old man in his place.”

  Lisa rushes to Jeff’s side. His eyes are puffy, and he moans as he clutches his arm, which isn’t located properly. She frantically reaches for her cell phone. “I’m calling 911.”

  “You’re not calling anyone, sweetheart.”

  All three employees turn to the sound of Ellison’s voice. He is leaning against one of the cubicles behind them, flipping a magnet back and forth in his hand. His face is pink, his shirt unbuttoned almost all the way. He raises a blunt to his mouth and exhales.

  Lisa narrows her eyes. “He’s hurt.”

  Cheryl exhales. “Jeff, can you stand?”

  With the help of both women, Jeff slowly manages to get to his feet. He winces in pain. “No, ladies, it’s okay. I’ll just go to the hospital.” He sniffs and gives Ellison a dark look. “I‘ll be fine. No need making a fuss.”

  “Your arm is swelling pretty bad,” Cheryl says.

  Ellison smirks when he sees the blood stains on his shirt. “Arriving late and leaving early. I don’t know what my father ever saw in you.”

  “I’ll call the police.” Lisa’s jaw is trembling.

  “Oh alright, go ahead.” Ellison winks at her. “But unless you want you and your family to lose everything you have, I’d reconsider.” He glances at Jeff. “After all, you started it.”

  Jeff doesn’t reply. His chest is so hot all he can do is stare at him. Ellison chuckles and points at Cheryl. “Oh, and on your way back, can you stop at the McDonalds? The boys are hungry. They’ve been asking you all morning—I’d hate to have you written up. You’ve been doing well. Keep it up. You might become employee of the month.”

  As he disappears in the conference room, Cheryl grits her teeth. “That low life—”

  ”Hey, hey, hey,” Jeff says, finally being able to speak again. “Not here, alright? Not yet.”

  ”This is my fault,” Lisa sighs.

  “No.” Jeff gives her a hard glare. “It is most certainly not, and I don’t want you to ever hear a thing like that. As a matter of fact, I want you to resign immediately. This is no place for you, and I won’t risk having something happening to you if I’m not here.” He glances at Cheryl. “We won’t call the police. The authorities aren’t going to do nothing. Do not call the police. Say that I lost my balance and fell down the stairs.”

  “But..” Cheryl stammers. “But—”

  ”I’ll bring my car up front,” Lisa says, glancing at the conference room, where another wave of laughter comes through. “Wait here.”

  Once she rushes out the office, Cheryl gives Jeff a harsh look. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “No.” With his sleeve, Jeff heavily dabs his bloody nose. “We both know that this kid can easily beat us in court. He can afford the best lawyers, weasel his way around the system. It’s like trying to fight fire with straw. This is only going to make it harder for us. I want Lisa out of here. She’s only nineteen. She doesn’t deserve this. I’ll give her references so she can find another place.”

  As they both walk down the stairwell, Cheryl shakes her head. “So do we just do nothing?”

  They step outside. The wind is blowing in their hair, leaving mist in their faces. It has stopped raining, and the sound of Lisa’s Toyota Camry pulling up by the curb makes the pressure in Jeff’s head shift. He suddenly smiles to himself, even though his upper lip is swollen and he can hardly see out his right eye. His arm was throbbing, aching. But for the first time in days, his mind is clear.

  ”Jeff?”

  ”I have an idea,” he calmly replies.

  * * * * * * *

  Thunder shakes the sky above.

  Dana’s face is buried in his lap, his arms tightly hugged around his knees. He had managed to find a small cardboard box near the overflowing dumpster in a dark alley. A few streetlights are on, but this is a quiet part of town. He is soaked to the bone. All he can feel is cold metal to his neck. He is cold all over. All he can do is see Claire’s face.

  It is so cold, so wet, and he longs for somewhere in warm and dry. He can’t stay here, or else he’ll freeze to death. Shivering, he manages to make his way down another street, down near the woods. Dead leaves crunch against his worn shoes as he enters through a park and notices a public outdoor restroom. He fumbles with the door, and to his relief, it is unlocked. Once he steps inside, he locks the door. Thunder rumbles again, and he clamps his hands over his ears as he curls up in a ball against the side of the urinal.

  He sniffs, his dark eyes scanning the dimly lit room. After using a handful of paper towels to dry his face, he leans his head against the tile wall and tries to catch a few hours of sleep.

  There is a faint squeak.

  Dana opens his eyes. There is something soft, a little snout against his shin. A small gray mouse is on top of his mangled shoelaces. A faint smile falls on Dana’s lips, but as the mouse scurries away, it fades.

  He tries to follow the squeaking, scooting forward and crawling on all fours on the concrete floor. He sees the mouse’s shadow. Very slowly, he holds out his right hand, making a soft clicking sound with his teeth. He wants it to understand that he won’t harm it. The mouse hesitates, before finally settling into his palm. Gently, he begins to stroke the creature’s soft fur with his fingertips.

  Both of them look at each other. Dana can’t help but notice that the color of its fur is white.

  Snowball. It’s a name that suits the little guy.

  Claire would absolutely love the mouse. Once Dana brings her with him, he would introduce Snowball to her.

  It reminds him of the snow cones that he used to enjoy when he was little. He gently smiles again, his damp hair plastered to his face. He glances around the bathroom. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any food on him. But he could make a bed for Snowball, just to keep him comfortable for tonight. After arranging some tissue paper in a circular motion, he carefully places the mouse in middle. Thunder rumbles outside again.

  Snowball loudly squeaks as Dana lays down on the floor next to him, his whiskers brushing his muddy fingertips.