Part 3:

“But you apologize. That’s something. Is it enough?” “I don’t know. That’s not for me to decide.” Sophie finished her dinosaur and held it up. Look, I made him rainbow. That’s beautiful, sweetheart, Daniel said. Isabella looked at the drawing, then at Sophie, then at Daniel. I haven’t felt like a real person in a very long time, she said.

Daniel met her eyes. Maybe that’s the problem. Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside Cafe Marlo, four people who should never have shared a table sat together in strange, fragile peace. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Isabella Grant wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than being powerful.

But old habits die hard, and people like Isabella didn’t change overnight. In fact, the real story was only just beginning. The snow had stopped by the time they left the cafe, but the cold hadn’t. Daniel walked Sophie back to their apartment three blocks away, her small hand warm in his. She chattered the whole way about the fancy lady who didn’t know how to color inside the lines.

She was nice at the end though, Sophie said. Right, Daddy? Yeah, at the end. Do you think she’ll come back to the cafe? Daniel doubted it. People like Isabella Grant didn’t return to places where they’d been called out. They just moved on to the next thing, the next space they could control. I don’t know, sweetheart. I hope she does.

She needs more practice coloring. Daniel smiled despite himself. Their apartment was on the fourth floor of a building that should have been condemned a decade ago. The heat worked about half the time. The elevator never did, but it was theirs, and the rent was almost manageable if Daniel picked up enough weekend shifts.

He got Sophie settled with her homework while he made lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches again. They’d had peanut butter sandwiches four times this week, but Sophie hadn’t complained yet. She was good like that. Too good. Sometimes Daniel wondered if she’d learned not to ask for things because she already knew the answer.

His phone buzzed. A text from Marcus, his only real friend left from the before times before Emily died before everything got hard. You working the Morrison job Saturday? Daniel texted back. Yeah, need the hours. Thought you had Sophie on weekends. Mrs. Chen’s watching her. I need the money. Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Man, you got to slow down. You’re going to burn out. Daniel didn’t respond. What was he supposed to say? That he was already burned out? That he’d been running on fumes for 18 months? That sometimes he lay awake at night doing math in his head trying to figure out how to make $900 stretch across rent, food, utilities, and everything else.

He pocketed the phone and focused on Sophie. That afternoon, he took her to the public library for their weekly routine. It was warm, it was free, and Sophie could read as many books as she wanted. She disappeared into the children’s section while Daniel sat at one of the computers updating his resume for the hundth time.

He had applications out everywhere. Office jobs, warehouse positions, anything with benefits and a salary. But nobody called back. His work history was too scattered. High school diploma, no college degree, just a guy who knew how to fix things and work hard. And apparently that wasn’t enough anymore. Daddy, look.

Sophie ran up with an armful of books, nearly dropping them. Whoa, how many did you get? Six. They’re all about space. Did you know that Jupiter has a storm that’s been going for hundreds of years? I didn’t know that. It’s called the Great Red Spot, and it’s bigger than Earth. And his phone rang. Unknown number. Hold that thought, sweetheart. He answered. Hello.

Is this Daniel Brooks? A woman’s voice. professional clipped. Yeah, that’s me. This is Jennifer Hastings. I’m calling from Grant Industries. Daniel’s stomach dropped. I’m sorry. What? Grant Industries? Miss Grant would like to speak with you. Are you available tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.? I don’t Why would she want to speak with me? She didn’t specify.

She just asked me to arrange a meeting. Daniel’s mind raced. This had to be about the cafe, about what he’d said. Was she going to sue him? Threaten him? He didn’t even know if you could sue someone for telling you to sit down. Mr. Brooks, I’m here. I just Can I ask what this is regarding? Miss Grant prefers to discuss matters in person. Of course, she did.

I work tomorrow. I can’t just She’s prepared to compensate you for your time. $200 for the meeting regardless of outcome. Daniel nearly dropped the phone. $200. That was groceries for 2 weeks. That was the electric bill with money left over. What time did you say? 10:00 a.m. Grant Industries headquarters, 42nd in Park.

Asked for me at reception. She hung up before he could respond. Daniel stood there, phone in hand, trying to process what had just happened. Daddy, are we getting these books? He looked down at Sophie, at her excited face, at the space books she’d picked out. Yeah, he said. Yeah, we’re getting the books. That night, after Sophie was asleep, Daniel sat at their tiny kitchen table and stared at the business card he’d looked up online. Grant Industries.

He’d walked past their building a thousand times. 52 stories of steel and glass. The kind of place where the doormen wore nicer suits than Daniel owned. He shouldn’t go. It was obviously a power play. Isabella Grant wasn’t used to being challenged, so now she was going to remind him of his place, show him her world, make him feel small, maybe offer him money to sign something saying he’d keep his mouth shut about the cafe incident.

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