of them looked up. Chad hoisted a stack of two-by-fours onto his shoulder, his boots rhythmic against the concrete, while Joan calmly matched a custom olive tint at the bench with her old manual balance. They weren’t bitter; they were simply working for a business that valued what they did.
“She’s drowning, son,” Dad muttered, his voice dropping so low the grinding of Ricky’s delivery truck nearly swallowed it. “The contractors pulled their accounts. Suppliers won’t extend net-thirty terms because she missed the July settlement. We’re bleeding cash on those self-checkout leases, and the county canceled the road commission mower
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