When my shift ended at 8 AM, I didn’t go home to sleep.

I drove straight to the steel plant’s corporate headquarters downtown. I was still wearing my wrinkled polyester Holiday Inn vest. I smelled like stale coffee and exhaustion.

I walked past the security desk. I ignored the receptionist calling after me.

I walked straight down the executive hallway and pushed open the glass door to David’s office.

He was sitting at his massive mahogany desk, typing on a laptop, sipping a green juice.

“Excuse me,” he snapped, his head jerking up. “You can’t just walk in here.”

“Hello, David.”

“Arthur?” He blinked, taking in my cheap uniform. “What are you doing? You need to leave before I call security.”

“Call them,” I said.

I walked up to his desk. I slammed the crumpled, coffee-stained letter down onto the polished wood.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Page three. Sub-clause four,” I said, my voice completely flat and dead. “The restructuring was finalized on October 14th.”

“So?”

“I retired on October 7th.”

David froze. His hand stopped halfway to his green juice.

“You included me in a legal restructuring that happened when I was no longer an employee,” I continued, leaning forward until my face was inches from his. “I signed my exit papers on the 7th. You illegally altered a finalized pension contract after the fact to steal my money.”

“Arthur, you’re confused—”

“I’m not confused,” I cut him off. “I was an idiot for thirty-eight years. But I am not confused today. You committed corporate fraud. You stole from a senior citizen to pad your quarterly budget.”

I have never seen a human being lose their soul so fast. The color drained from his face. The smug, untouchable corporate director vanished, replaced by a terrified man in a very expensive suit.

“Arthur, listen,” he stammered, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “Let’s not overreact.”