Page 135 of Rhodes

"Oak Moss just became a Stone Intermodal problem."

That gets my attention. I turn off the burner under the eggs. "How?"

"The Charleston District kicked something back through the file yesterday. The consultant letter sent on your behalf has enough Stone Intermodal fingerprints on it that somebody finally asked who authorized the contact. We’re days, maybe hours, away from somebody pulling the whole thread."

I lean one hip against the counter. "Shit. Why is this even a big deal? I sent an email, that's all."

"Well, it's raised a flag somewhere."

"What needs to happen?" I haven't told Ridge about this, because I truly didn't think it would have any impact on the company. I've been working there since a week after graduation, down in receiving, and while I still don't know what the fuck I'm doing half the time, I'm at least earning my paycheck now.

Wells keeps going. "Right now, it's a question. The biggest one is going to be why was Stone Intermodal involved in a private permit matter that has nothing to do with company business."

My stomach tightens.

"And?"

"And I can answer it."

I look down at the spatula still in my hand.

Wells's voice stays flat, practical. "You made an individual inquiry, that's all it was, and the consultant used the company address because that's what he had on file. Nobody at SI directed the contact, nobody benefited from it, and the company had no involvement beyond you being an idiot with access to email."

"Strong defense."

"Stop being a smart ass, Rhodes. We aren't playing office anymore, and your actions have real consequences."

"So you clean it up, and it goes away? I mean, what harm can they do to the company?”

He laughs as if my question is preposterous, like I'm a kid in over my head.

"I think I can scrub it. You don't contact the consultant again, and you don't send anything else to Charleston District without running it by me. If somebody calls you directly, you send them to me."

There it is. The easiest answer in the world.

I don't have to explain myself to Ridge. I don't have to sit in one of those glass conference rooms while lawyers decide whether I embarrassed the company. Wells makes the calls, cleans up the paper trail, and by lunch this becomes another problem one of my brothers handled before I had to touch it.

For one second, relief settles through me so hard I could almost laugh.

"Okay," I say.

Wells is already talking again. "Alright, then⁠—"

"No." I set the spatula on the counter.

"What do you mean, 'no?'"

"Don't call anybody yet."

"There isn't time to sit on our asses if we're going to get in front of this. What do you want to wait for?"

"I'm going to Ridge."

"You don't need to. You don't need to drag Ridge into it yet. I prefer to fix things first, then tell him."

I push away from the counter and walk to the window over the sink. Morning light cuts across the backyard. The house is quiet again. There's no backpack against the kitchen chair or water bottle drying beside mine.

"I did it," I say. "It's time I clean up my own messes."