Michael passed the sweater to his son.

“I’ll call you later,” Michael said.

He walked past Travis without another word, his eyes on the exit.

At four o’clock the fluorescent lights in the Apex Logistics conference room gave off a low electric hum.

Michael stood at the head of the long wooden table.

He clicked the plastic remote to move to the next quarterly budget slide.

Carla sat by the projector in a tailored gray jacket, tapping her red pen on her leather notebook.

“Projected outbound freight costs for the winter quarter come in at an estimated forty-two thousand dollars,” Michael said.