Frank had driven for me for eleven years. He was steady, quiet, and unfailingly patient. He remembered birthdays, carried extra gloves in winter, and once spent an entire night waiting outside a hospital while one of our warehouse workers underwent surgery.
The girl’s fear made no sense.
Unless she had a reason.
“Frank,” I said gently, “stay with the car.”
His expression tightened. “Boss—”
“Please.”
He looked from me to the children, then nodded.
That was when the baby coughed again.
The girl immediately bent over him.
“His name?” I asked.
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