Chapter 3 - The Summons
I went back to work. There was a jammed vent on the fourth floor that needed my attention.
For three days, my life remained exactly the same. I cleaned, I repaired, I remained invisible. But the building was buzzing. Rumors spread like wildfire. The janitor who turned down a million dollars. The maintenance guy who humiliated the Boston specialists.
On Thursday afternoon, I was in the basement boiler room, eating a ham sandwich out of a Tupperware container, when the heavy metal door swung open.
It wasn't my supervisor.
It was Eleanor Vance.
She was wearing a razor-sharp charcoal suit, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. She looked entirely out of place amidst the exposed pipes and concrete.
"You are a very difficult man to track down, Thomas," she said, stepping into the dim room.
I stood up, wiping my hands on a rag. "I'm not hiding, ma'am. I just work in the basement."
"You refused the money," she stated, her sharp eyes studying me. "Why?"
"I told you why. My son is on the spectrum. When he was young, I would have given anything for someone to just understand him instead of trying to 'fix' him. You can't put a price tag on that."
Eleanor stared at me for a long time. The hardened, ruthless CEO exterior seemed to crack just a fraction.
"The specialists I hired wanted to institutionalize him," she whispered, looking down at the concrete. "They said he was unmanageable. They said I couldn't give him the life he needed while running this company."
"Specialists read books," I replied. "Fathers read their kids."
Eleanor looked up, a fierce, determined fire igniting in her eyes. "I fired them. All of them. And I am offering you a job."
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"I already have a job, Ms. Vance. I fix the toilets."
"Not anymore," she said. "I am creating a new division at Vance Dynamics. Accessible Technology. Software and hardware designed specifically for neurodivergent individuals. And I want you to consult on it."
