Chapter 3 - The Summons to the Top Floor
At four-fifteen, fifteen minutes before the day shift ended, Roz’s phone on the lab desk buzzed.
"Roz? It's Fay. Come upstairs to Boyd's office. Now."
The walk up the carpeted stairs of the administrative wing felt like marching to an execution. In Dothan, family connections ran deeper than corporate policy. Trudy Odum’s cousins owned the trucking firm that hauled the peanut hulls. Her brother was the county commissioner who approved the plant’s wastewater permits. To cross Trudy was to risk economic suicide in this corner of Alabama.
When Roz stepped into the corner office, the tension was thick enough to choke on. The blinds were drawn against the late afternoon sun, casting long amber slats across the mahogany desk. Boyd was seated behind it, his sleeves rolled up, his jaw set in stone. Standing opposite him was Trudy, her floral blouse trembling with indignant fury, her purse clutched like a weapon.
"You cannot keep her here, Boyd!" Trudy was saying, her voice cracking with theatrical grief. "It’s an insult to my boy's memory! Every time I look at her, I see Clay dying on that back road alone! The line workers can't focus. We’re losing productivity because she’s parading around here like she didn't ruin my life!"
Roz stopped just inside the doorway, her head down, her hands folded in front of her apron.
Boyd raised a single hand, cutting Trudy off without raising his voice. "Close the door, Rosalyn."
Roz turned, clicked the latch shut, and remained standing near the bookshelf.
"Trudy," Boyd said slowly, his dark eyes fixed on the weeping woman. "Roz has been here six weeks. Her quality control ratings are the highest this facility has seen since 2019. She hasn't spoken out of turn, she hasn't missed a shift, and she hasn't brought personal drama into my plant."
"Her very presence is drama!" Trudy cried, turning to glare at Roz with venomous hatred. "She took Clay's car that night! She took his savings account! She bled my sweet boy dry, and when he begged her to stay, she laughed at him! And then she has the nerve to crawl back to this town and take a paycheck from you?"
Roz stood completely still, though her fingernails dug deep into the palms of her hands.
"Is that true, Rosalyn?" Boyd asked quietly, his eyes shifting toward her. There was no accusation in his tone—only a deep, piercing curiosity.
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Roz swallowed the lump of burning coals in her throat. "I took twenty dollars for gas, Mr. Gaines. That's all I took."
"Liar!" Trudy screamed, slamming her hand on the desk. "You murdered him just as sure as if you cut his brake lines! Boyd, you fire her right now, or half that packing floor walks out tomorrow morning. You choose. Me or her."
