Chapter 4 - The House of Cards Collapses
Donnie stared at the dead receiver in his hand, his blood turning to ice. ""What do you mean she doesn't work here?"" he whispered to the empty dial tone.
He slammed the phone down and ran through the swinging plastic doors into the maintenance bay. The shop was eerily quiet. Swede was methodically wiping down a micrometer with an oily rag, whistling a jaunty polka tune.
""Where is she, Swede?"" Donnie demanded, charging toward the workbench, his chest heaving under his white company smock. ""Stop screwing around! Where is my sister?""
Swede pointed with his wrench toward the far corner of the shop.
The space where my tall, heavy-duty black Snap-on toolbox had sat for half a decade was completely empty. Nothing remained except a clean rectangle on the concrete floor surrounded by faded grease stains. Taped to the wall above the empty space was a single piece of yellow legal paper with my handwriting:
Good luck, Donnie. The manual is in the bottom drawer you never opened.
""She... she quit?"" Donnie’s voice shrank to a squeak. ""She can't quit! Who approved this? Dad told her she couldn't leave!""
""Ernie approved it, genius,"" Swede said, not even looking up. ""She gave her notice, and Ernie paid her to take a vacation because he knew you'd pull some reckless, half-cocked stunt the second you realized you had to do your own job. And look at that—twenty minutes into your shift, and you've already turned twenty thousand dollars worth of packaging equipment into scrap metal.""
""You have to fix it, Swede!"" Donnie plead, grabbing the old man’s sleeve. ""You've been here forty years! Fix the jaw! If that line isn't running by 6:00 PM, corporate is going to cancel the Great Northern contract! They'll fire me!""
Swede slowly peeled Donnie’s fingers off his sleeve with an expression of profound disgust. ""I work on the pasteurizers and the separator vats, Donnie. Sam was the only person certified on the computerized servo-drives for the German packaging units. I told management three years ago to send someone else to school for it, but Ernie said we didn't need to because Sam was a mechanical savant. And you—you told the whole county she was just a glorified wrench-turner who owed you a favor.""
""Swede, please!""
""Call a contractor from Green Bay,"" Swede said, turning his back. ""They charge two hundred and fifty an hour, portal-to-portal, plus emergency rush fees. They might get here by tomorrow afternoon. Better start shoveling that cheese out of the gears with your hands, boy.""
Donnie’s knees nearly buckled. He sprinted back to his office, his hands trembling so violently he could barely dial his cell phone.
At my house, I was standing in my garden, watering the tomato plants in the warm afternoon sun, when my phone began vibrating against the cedar fence post. The caller ID flashed: DONNIE.
I let it ring until it went to voicemail.
Ten seconds later, it rang again. Then a third time.
Finally, I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear, keeping my voice cool and calm. ""Hello, Donnie.""
""Sam! Sam, oh thank God!"" Donnie was practically sobbing, the background roar of the cheese plant bleeding through the speaker. ""You have to come back! Right now! Line Four just had a catastrophic failure! The transfer arm broke, the main seal is cracked, and the PLC is throwing error codes I've never seen before! Ernie is on his way down here with the regional VP!""
""Sounds serious,"" I said, watching a monarch butterfly land on a tomato blossom. ""Did you check the hydraulic seal like I told you last night?""
There was a suffocating pause on the other end. ""I... I thought you were just talking smack! Sam, please! Come down here and fix it! Tell Ernie it was an emergency recall or something! Tell him you're still on the payroll! If you fix this before the VP gets here, I'll pay you! I'll give you five hundred bucks cash right out of my pocket!""
""Five hundred dollars?"" I asked quietly. ""Is that the referral bonus you made off me six years ago, Donnie?""
""Sam, don't do this! We're family! You're ruining my life!""
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""No, Donnie,"" I replied, my voice steady as steel. ""You ruined your own machine because you thought you could run a complex line without understanding how it works. And you treated me like an embarrassing sidekick while you took credit for every hour of sleep I lost. Call a technician. I don't work for Mill Creek anymore.""
I hung up the phone and blocked his number.
