He came inside and shut the door.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Reid.”
“Noah is upstairs. Owen can hear through the wall. This is not a staff meeting.”
“This is my livelihood too.”
The truth in that stopped me.
Caleb had been with me since the yard operated from one leaking shed and a borrowed trailer. Owen joined two years later. They had carried the place while I lived at the hospital.
They deserved more than reassurance.
I turned the laptop toward him.
Caleb read in silence.
His mouth tightened.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you were already working twelve-hour days.”
“We can delay our pay.”
“No.”
“We can.”
“No.”
“What about the claim?”
“Still pending.”
“Their truck nearly killed Noah while he was driving your service van.”
“I am aware.”
Caleb looked toward the ceiling.
“Does Noah know?”
“No.”
“He asked this morning.”
“I told him the claim is pending.”
“Not this.”
“No.”
Caleb folded his arms.
