"We've decided to go in another direction."
"We'll be in touch."
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They never were.
My savings started to thin out. Then my confidence and soon my sleep followed.
Eleven months after Meridian fired me, a black SUV pulled into my driveway on a rainy Tuesday.
I was standing at the sink washing a single plate when I heard the tires on wet gravel.
A man in a charcoal suit stepped out holding a briefcase. He looked expensive and tired, like someone who spent his life cleaning up the disasters rich people paid to create.
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He knocked twice.
When I opened the door, he asked, "Bennett?"
"Yes."
"My name is Arthur. I'm an attorney. May I come in?"
I frowned. "I think you may have the wrong house."
"I don't," he said. "I'm here because I think your former employer owes you more than money."
That got my attention.
