My dad was waiting in his office with the HR director. A thick folder sat on the desk. And he had a look in his eyes I recognized from childhood—the look that meant a problem had just landed in his hands.
He tapped the folder.
“We received a job application,” he said.
I frowned. “For what position?”
He slid the top page toward me.
The name at the top stopped my breath.
Grant Ellis.
My dad’s tone stayed calm. “He applied for a management role in Operations,” he said. “And he listed your old address as his emergency contact.”
I stared at the paper, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“He doesn’t know,” I whispered.
My dad’s mouth tightened. “No,” he said. “He doesn’t.”
Then he looked at me.
“Would you like to handle this,” he asked, “or should I?”
