Smith's POV.

I leaned back in my chair slowly, the leather squeaking. I didn’t speak. Just stared at James.

His hands were twitchy. Fidgety. Like he didn’t know what to do with them.

"Is that all?" I finally asked.

He blinked. Like he expected me to say something else. Anything else.

"Yes, sir. I just thought... you should know."

I scoffed. "Why?"

He flinched. "Well, he worked here since before you were born."

"Exactly," I said, cutting him off. "Which means he had years to prepare. Retirement fund. Family. Friends. A damn GoFundMe if he wanted."

James didn’t speak.

"You think it was my job to save him?" I asked,...