Part 18:
I’ve been keeping records. I have them written down at home. Ryan. And I have a friend at the weigh station, used to be a friend. He sent me some weigh tickets, without, you know, without telling his boss. Ryan. And I started looking at those tickets, Everett, and I noticed something.
I noticed that the dates line up with when a specific person has a specific route open, and I noticed something else, too. I noticed that the paperwork at our end has been signed off by somebody at corporate, every time. Same person, same initials. Sharp was very still. Ryan. I want you to think carefully about what you’re saying to me. I have been.
I’ve been thinking about it for 3 weeks. Ryan. Everett, I’m not here to start anything. I’m here because I’ve got a kid. I’ve got a 7-year-old. Her mother died 4 years ago. I had a job I was good at, and it’s gone, and I can’t get another one in this industry because when somebody calls for a reference, they’re going to hear about a missing insulin shipment.
Nobody’s going to hire me in logistics, not in this state. Maybe not in any state. I’ve been looking. Ryan, I need to take care of her. I need to get out of Vermont. I’ve got my mother-in-law in Burlington, but I can’t stay near this place. I need a fresh start. Ryan? I need $60,000, Everett, to start over. And if I had that, I’d lose my paperwork, all of it, and I’d sign a letter saying I was retracting every accusation I’ve made internally on my way out.
Sharp did not answer for a long time. Ryan made himself look up at him. He made himself look right at him. He kept his face, the face of a man who was ashamed of what he was saying and doing it anyway. $60,000, Sharp said slowly. Yes, sir. You understand that if I wrote you a check for $60,000 out of this company, it would be in every audit report we have from three different departments by the end of the month.
I wasn’t asking for a check. What were you asking for? I was asking for a man like you to figure out how to get $60,000 to a man like me in a way that nobody sees. And you think I know how to do that? I think you’ve figured out how to do something like that before. Sharp’s face changed. It was not a big change. It was the smallest change.
His mouth tightened at the corner. A single muscle along his jaw moved. Ryan? Yes, sir. What exactly do you think you know? I think I know what Tuesday nights look like at that dock. And I think I know whose initials are on the paperwork at your end. And I think if I ever said those things in a federal courtroom, they would be very interesting to a federal judge.
And I think, Everett, that I don’t want to say them anywhere. I want to disappear. I want $60,000 and a clean reference letter and a train ticket out of the state, and then I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, and Carl Voss never heard my name. Sharp looked at him. Ryan looked back. It was a long moment. Much longer than Ryan had been prepared for.
He could hear a clock ticking somewhere in the office. He could hear very faintly the hum of the heater. Let me ask you something, Ryan. Yes, sir. Who sent you? Nobody sent me. Somebody sent you. You’re a warehouse guy. You don’t walk into my office on a Thursday morning with this kind of number in your mouth. Somebody put you up to this. Was it a lawyer? No, sir.
Was it somebody inside this company? No, sir. Was it a reporter? No, sir. Everett, I’ve got a kid and no job. I don’t need a reporter. I need money. Sharp watched him. Sharp was not a dumb man. Ryan could see it on his face. He was calculating. He was running math. He was considering whether Ryan was a man on his own or whether Ryan was a man with handlers.
And then slowly, Ryan saw the math tip. Sharp smiled. Not a big smile. A small one. The smile of a man who had decided, for reasons of his own greed and his own arrogance, that he was looking at a fly he could swat. Ryan? Yes, sir. 60,000 is a lot of money. Yes, sir. I don’t have $60,000 of my own money to give you this afternoon.
I understand. What I could do, hypothetically, is put you in touch with someone who does. Okay. This person would not be the company. This person would be a private individual. Okay? The money would come to you in a way that could never be traced to this company or to me. Are you following? Yes, sir. And in exchange, Ryan.
Yes, sir. In exchange, you would never speak about Tuesday nights again to anyone, ever. Are we clear? Yes, sir. Because if you ever did, Ryan. Yes. There are two or three people who would be very unhappy with you, and they would not be unhappy in a way that you would find survivable. Do you understand? I understand.
Good. Sharp leaned back in his chair. He exhaled. He looked for a second almost relaxed, like a man who had just finished solving a small household problem. Give me a number I can reach you at. It’s in the file. Give it to me again. Ryan gave it to him. Sharp wrote it down. Somebody will call you in the next 72 hours.
