Chapter 4 - Beneath the Surface
Kneeling slowly until he was at eye level with the trembling child, Jonathan held up his hands to show he meant no harm. The ambient blue light from the windows outlined the sharp lines of his face, softening them into something surprisingly gentle.
"What is your name?" Jonathan asked softly, ignoring the corporate protocols that governed every second of his normal life.
"Norah," she whispered, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "And this is Lucy. She's ten months old. Please, mister, don't be mad. My mom, Clare... she got sick in the breakroom. She couldn't walk up the stairs. But the papers said the office has to be spotless, or else the landlord... the landlord takes our bags."
Jonathan’s blood ran cold. Clare?
Caldwell Manufacturing outsourced its night cleaning crew through an independent agency, a third-party vendor that Jonathan had recently discovered was cutting corners and squeezing low-wage workers unmercifully. He stood up slowly, keeping his eyes on Norah.
"Norah," Jonathan said, his voice carrying an intense, resonant authority that brook no argument, "where is your mother right now?"
"Downstairs. In the third-floor breakroom," Norah sniffled, finally letting a single tear slip down her dusty cheek. "She fell asleep against the locker. She wouldn't wake up when I shook her. I had to finish. I'm good at it. Watch."
May you like
She reached down to pick up the cloth again, but Jonathan gently caught her small, calloused wrist.
"You've done enough, Norah," Jonathan said, his voice thick with an emotion he hadn't felt in decades. He unclipped his expensive suit jacket, draped it around Norah’s shivering shoulders to keep her warm, and gently untied the star-printed blanket from her chest, lifting baby Lucy into his arms with surprising expertise. "Let's go find your mother."
