When I arrive home, Jilly-bean greets me cheerfully. "Dinner is almost ready."

"Something smells good."

Jillian leads me into the dining room where the table is set. Megs enters. Wearing dalmatian-print oven mitts, she sets a casserole dish in the center of the table.

She smiles. "Would you pour some wine while I serve the pasta?" 

"Love to." I open a bottle of red wine and fill two glasses.

"Wow. Chicken cacciatore." I lick my lips. "So what's the special occasion?"

"Nothing special. I left work early today and stopped by the grocery store."

I eagerly dig into my meal. "This is delicious. I almost forgot what a good cook you are."

"Thanks. I think."

Jillian adds, "I didn't think I was gonna like this but it's kinda good."

Megs smiles. "Kinda thanks." 

"So, how was your day, ladies?" I say around a mouthful of pasta. I see Megan giving a don't-you-dare look to my daughter.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Nothing." Jillian looks at her plate.

"Something happened."

"We're not supposed to add more stress."

"Jillian!" Megan's tone means business.

I turn to my wife. "Not supposed to add more stress? What's that about?"

"Let's enjoy our relaxing dinner together," Megan says in a soothing tone.

"Listen, guys." I draw the napkin across my cacciatore-coated lips. "I'm fine. Really."

Clearly, my wife is unhappy with my daughter.

"Did something happen at school again?" I ask.

Jillian turns her eyes to Megs.

"Come on. Tell me."

"She said I was disrupful."

"Disruptive." Megs corrects her.

"What did you do?"

"She says so many stupid things. I can't believe they let her be a teacher."

"Same teacher?"

"Ms. Castellano." 

"You didn't say stupid, did you?"

"No."

"She said that one of her neighbors got a pit bull..."

"Oh, geez," I sigh. I know exactly where this is headed.

"And that they should get rid of all pit bulls because they're dangerous."

"And you told her that pit bull isn't even an actual breed of dog."

"Right."

"And she said you were being disruptive?"

"I didn't get to that part yet."

Megs takes a drink of her wine.

"I said it was dumb to say that all pit bulls are vicious. That's like saying that all boys are strong and all girls are pretty and--"

I cut her off. "You said dumb?"

"It just kinda slipped out cause she made me so mad."

"Want more wine?" Megs asks.

                                                                                    #######

10:48 PM. With freshly-brushed teeth, I enter the bedroom and get into bed beside Megan. She gives me a gentle kiss, then in a quiet voice she says, "I'm glad that she's assertive. And stands up for what she believes."

"And, boy, is she smart!" I add.

"But she's got to learn to control that temper of hers."

I nod and scrunch down into my pillow.

Megan gently runs her hand across my cheek. "How about you? Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah. I am. Really."

"I hope so," she says and gives me a light kiss. 

"Don't worry about me. I had a meltdown. But it's all in the past. I got it under control."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it was the job, Megs. Definitely the job. Since I left, I feel so much better."

She nestles her head against my shoulder. I wish I could bottle the way she smells. 

"So how was your Trollamex meeting?"

"It went... uh, pretty good." I shouldn't have paused. I can feel her muscles tighten.

"Pretty good? Did they offer you a check?"

"We didn't get to that part yet."

"Oh. So there's more." She sounds disappointed.

"There's nothing to worry about." 

She doesn't respond. Yep, she's worried.

                                                                                #######

6:14. I shut off my alarm one minute before it buzzes and I roll out of bed.

6:30. I'm out of the shower standing at the sink. While brushing my teeth, I look in the mirror at a guy that I'm beginning to recognize as the old Phil. I open a prescription bottle and swallow a mental health pill.

6:48. I put on a clean pair of jeans and, instead of a T-shirt, I take an Oxford shirt from the closet. While I'm buttoning up, a smile expands across my lips. Where is the folded paper with the pic of the ape and the dog? I need to sneak that into Megs' bag before she leaves for work.

I trot across the hallway to my office and open my briefcase. Not there. I sort through a few remaining folders but I can't find it. I jog back across the hall to the bedroom. I open the clothes hamper, remove sweatpants and a pair of jeans. I search the pockets. Damn. Where is it?

Megs calls from downstairs, "I'm leaving for work. You sure you're okay walking Jillian to the bus stop?"

"I'll be right down." I round the bend and zip down the stairs. 

"She's finishing her breakfast," says Meagan. "I usually leave by 7:30, just in case."

"I got this. Don't worry. Have a good day." 

Jillian races in and gives her mom a hug. 

"Did you pack my turkey and cheese roll-up?" she asks.

"And your favorite yogurt." Megs kisses the top of Jilly-bean's head. "Don't be disruptive to your teacher today."

"I won't."

My daughter pokes her head outside. "Look at all those dandelions."

"That's on my to-do list," I respond.

"The neighbor's grass is perfect. And look at ours." She winces.

"That's because his lawn is mostly chemicals. Now let's go. You better get dressed." 

My daughter bounds up the stairs. I give my wife a kiss and see her out the door.

My phone rings. It's Carl. That's strange. It's only 7:14.

"Hey, Phil. Hope I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I'm just getting ready to take my daughter to school."

"How's the pooch?"

"Pooch?"

"Your sick dog."

"Oh. Better. Much better."

"Hey, listen. Closing the loop on our last meeting. Think you might have time to come by the office today?"

"Uh, sure."

"We need to square the circle. There's a potential game-changer I'd like you to put eyes on before you make your final decision."

"Final decision about what?"

"Can I expect you today?" I hear him gulp some coffee.

"Sure. I'll come over right after I get my daughter off to school."

"Excellent. Let's drag that carcass off the highway."

Carcass? What?

                                                                                        #######

8:47. The moment I step through the front door of the office I can feel it. Something ominous is going on. It's uncomfortably quiet. Tentatively, I approach the Admin's desk. Despite her polite smile, I read the troubled expression on Wren's face. 

"Have a seat, Phil. Mr. Dunning will be with you shortly."

"You mean Carl."

"Right."

On my way to a chair in the waiting area, I spot Audra peeking over the top of her cubicle. When she sees me looking in her direction, she ducks down.  

I pick up a copy of PR Week magazine and read the headline: Why Influencers Rely on PR. Influencer. Now that's the job for me. Phil Robiski wears cotton crew socks. Shouldn't you? Maybe I could get sponsors to fly me to New Zealand or Nairobi or some exotic beach and post pics of me living my best life while rocking my cotton crew socks, my lifestyle brand. Every time I'm quoted, I'll say that I'm obsessed with cotton crew socks. Literally obsessed! I'll be invited to extravagant parties on yachts with Kim, Kanye, Prince Harry, and Meghan while spreading the gospel of 100% cotton crew socks. Social media, baby. No trade mags for this influencer. Trade magazines are dinosaurs. Can you imagine the kind of person who reads "Modern Asphalts" or "Carbide Drill Bits" publications? 

"Mr. Dunning is ready for you, Phil," says Wren.

"You mean Carl."

She smiles and then she's off. I trot after her down the hall trying my best to keep up without breaking into a sprint.

8:55. I enter the conference room. It's empty. A moment later, Carl comes through the door, a mug of coffee in his hand. To my surprise, Bernie follows, laptop under his arm.

"Bernie! How the hell are you?" 

Bernie gives me a quick glance then makes his way to the chair beside Carl. 

"So," says Carl. "I think we'll trim more fat around this pow wow without Mr. Glerk joining us."

I respond, "Those bloody eyes of his were creeping me out."

"Let's open the kimono," says Carl to Bernie. 

Bernie turns his laptop to face me. Video depositions play. First up, my ex-coworker, Rhonda.

"Phil Robiski? Never liked him. He was wound way too tight. A troublemaker."

"Wait. What's going on here?" I ask.

Carl's too busy gulping caffeine to respond.

Next up is Katz. He's angry. "Yeah, he's a real piece of work. Wouldn't surprise me if he was Taliban or something. Hates Mickey Mouse, for Christ's sake! How sick is that?"

I'm incensed. "How did you track down that guy? How'd you even know that I..."

I get no response.

Kellen's ex-Manager is next.

"When I first saw the guy I thought he was retarded. Oh, shit, can I say "retarded"? Can I say "shit"?"

A video clip of my so-called therapist, Dr. Lindbrutten then pops up on Bernie's laptop screen. "Phil's got serious anger issues. He's a very angry man."

"Whoa! Wait a minute," I fume. "This is confidential information."

"You mean like the Trollamex files?" Bernie sneers.

"There was a violent episode," Lindbrutten continues. "I feared for my safety. He confronted me and several of my patients. He was out of his mind with rage. I guess I really shouldn't be telling you any of this. But there's a lot more. A lot more I could say."

I shake my head.

Carl adds, "And if I were called to testify, Phil, unfortunately, there are quite a few things that I would be forced to divulge."

Bernie chimes in. "Me, too." He closes his laptop.

"Oh, really?" I give Bernie a flinty glare. "What do you mean by called to testify, Carl?"

Carl says, "There's obviously been a disconnect. We're at a pivot point. Why don't we just forget about all this Trollamex business and paddle upstream? Put it behind us. Hmmm?"

"Sorry, Carl. No can do."

"This isn't the hill to die on, Phil. You're making a big mistake."

Bernie adds, "Big mistake."

I push out of my chair. "I don't appreciate the ambush."

"I'm trying to give you the 30,000-foot view," says Carl.

"And this is you doing me a favor?"

"Here's the takeaway. Trollamex is a big, powerful company with deep, deep pockets. When you do the logic equation, this doesn't end well for you."

I head for the door.

"See you in court," says Bernie.

It's clear to me that many of my ex co-workers, like Bernie, are running on algorithms, which makes them really good at faking intelligent behavior despite the fact that they are relatively empty vessels.

On my way out of the building, it occurs to me. The person I should reach out to is Meg's sister, Brenna. She'd be perfect. Well, almost perfect. When Brenna left the law firm to go to work for a whistleblower organization she expected the announcement would be met with congratulations from her sister. Megan made the mistake of innocently asking, "How could you leave the law firm? You spent five years working your way up?" And that lit Brenna's very short fuse. She unleashed on her sister with an unfounded rant about Megan always being the traditionalist who couldn't accept her sister being gay. Nothing could be further from the truth. My wife doesn't have a homophobic bone in her body. In fact, when Brenna first introduced us to Yasmine, Megan was charmed and later said to me that she was delighted to finally see her sister so happy. So, needless to say, the estranged sister is a very sore subject around the Robiski residence.

But Brenna is smart and eager to take on predatory organizations, just the kind of person I desperately need. I find her in my list of contacts. Brenna McSorley. It's been a while since we've been in touch. A text seems too familiar. I decide, instead, to send her a brief email. "Hey, Brenna. It's Phil. I wonder if I could ask your advice on a corporate matter." 

The moment I send it, I feel regret. Maybe I should have talked it over with Megs before reaching out to Brenna. Too late now. Anyway, maybe she won't even respond. The more I think of it, the more frightened I become. Suppose Brenna thinks Megs is using me for bait. Dear God, what have I done? I guess I have no choice but to tell Megan. Unless Brenna doesn't respond. Please don't respond.