Chapter 4 - Into the Downpour
The rain had turned into a steady, gray sheet that swallowed the edges of Route 4.
Diane didn't hesitate anymore. The hesitation was gone, replaced by a sudden, fierce surge of maternal pride. She reached up, unpinned the worn apron from her waist, and tossed it onto the counter.
“Watch the register, Marlene,” Diane said, her voice steady now.
“Di, you’re crazy! Both of you are out of your minds!” Marlene shouted over the hum of the refrigerator, but there was a begrudging respect in her old eyes. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Go on, then. But don't say I didn't warn you when you catch pneumonia out there.”
“Come on, Lucy,” Diane said, grabbing a yellow plastic raincoat from the hook by the back door and helping her daughter zip up her purple hoodie.
They stepped out of the Maplewood Diner and into the biting October wind.
The cold hit them like a physical blow. The rain immediately plastered Lucy’s braids to her cheeks and soaked through the shoulders of Diane’s thin cardigan. They didn't have an umbrella; Diane had left hers in the car three days ago when the latch broke.
Route 4 was slick with black water. Traffic was sparse—mostly eighteen-wheelers thundering down toward Cincinnati, kicking up huge sprays of dirty road water that threatened to soak pedestrians on the narrow, crumbling shoulder.
Across the highway, the massive wrought-iron gates of Hale Manufacturing Plant No. 1 stood open, though the guard shack was dark and empty. A sleek black Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows was idling by the main gate, its hazard lights blinking an orange pulse through the gray mist.
“That’s his car!” Lucy shouted over the roar of a passing semi-truck. She pointed small, mittened finger across the four-lane highway.
“Wait, Lucy! Don’t run!” Diane yelled, grabbing her daughter’s hand.
There was no crosswalk for half a mile. Crossing Route 4 during shift change was dangerous enough for adults; doing it in a blinding downpour with a child was terrifying. But Diane looked down at her daughter’s determined face—set with the exact same stubborn jawline Diane saw in the mirror every morning—and knew there was no turning back.
They waited for a break in the semis, hand locked tightly in hand. When a gap appeared between a flatbed hauling scrap metal and a local delivery van, Diane pulled Lucy forward, splashing through ankle-deep puddles on the asphalt.
Their sneakers squelched with freezing water. By the time they reached the opposite side of the highway, both of them were shivering violently.
The black Navigator was stationary. The driver’s side door was open, and a tall man in a charcoal wool coat was leaning inside the back seat, retrieving a briefcase, while a younger man in a sharp business suit sat behind the steering wheel making a phone call.
“Excuse me!” Diane gasped, her lungs burning from the cold air. “Excuse me, sir!”
The tall man paused. He turned his head slowly, sliding his gaze from the interior of the car out toward the rain-swept pavement.
It was him. Christian Hale.
He didn't look pleased to be interrupted. His expression was a mask of cold corporate detachment, the look of a man whose time was measured in thousands of dollars per minute. He stared at Diane and the little girl standing shivering in the mud beside his car, their clothes soaked through, water dripping from Lucy’s nose and chin.
“We’re closed,” Christian said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. “If you’re looking for a donation or a plant tour, the administrative offices in Chicago handle public relations. Go through the website.”
He started to turn back into the car.
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“Wait!” Lucy yelled, stepping forward ahead of her mother. She didn't look intimidated by the towering billionaire, the luxury car, or the miserable weather. She held out the thick, cream-colored envelope in both hands, her small fingers clutching the damp paper tightly.
“You dropped this in the diner,” Lucy said clearly, her teeth chattering slightly from the cold. “It’s yours. My mom said stealing is wrong, even if nobody is watching.”
