— “But today I saw you with my grandson at the bus stop, in the cold, in worn-out boots. And I realized the time had come.”
Vera stood, unable to say a word, feeling the wall of fear she had built for three years crumbling inside her. Artem nuzzled into her shoulder, sniffling, and she held him tighter, realizing that for the first time in a long time, she was not alone.
— “What are you going to do, Dad?” she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Pyotr Nikolaevich gave her a long look, then took Artem into his arms, freeing his daughter’s hands.
— “What I should have done three years ago. Protect my family.”
They went up to the apartment, and for the first time in a long while, Vera felt solid ground beneath her feet. Her father laid Artem on the sofa, covered him with a blanket, and then sat down at the table and took out a notebook, in which he began to write something. Vera looked at him and understood that her quiet, calm father, who had always seemed like a simple engineer to her, was actually a completely different person. And that person had just declared war on those who dared to hurt his daughter and grandson.
Maxim Sokolov sat in the factory director’s office and didn’t understand what was happening. The summons had come at 8 a.m., just as he was leaving the entrance gate. The secretary, Lyudmila Petrovna, intercepted him at the turnstile and said that Anatoly Borisovich wanted to see him urgently.
In 12 years as a section foreman, Maxim had been called to the director’s office three times. Twice for an award and once to discuss an accident on the line. Now, besides Anatoly Borisovich Leontiev, the head of HR, Zinaida Fyodorovna, and an unfamiliar man in his fifties in an expensive gray suit were sitting in the office. The man looked at Maxim as if he were evaluating a defective part before scrapping it.
— “Maxim Viktorovich, please have a seat,” Anatoly Borisovich nodded at a chair, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. “This is Igor Valentinovich Somov, a representative from the main plant.”
Maxim sat down, feeling a knot of anxiety growing inside him. The factory where he worked was indeed a subsidiary of the metallurgical plant. But representatives from there rarely appeared, only for serious inspections or reorganizations.
— “We conducted an internal investigation,” Igor Valentinovich spoke evenly, without emotion, as if reading a verdict. “Systematic violations of labor discipline have been identified. Use of company transport for personal purposes. Repeated instances of appearing at the workplace intoxicated.”
Maxim felt the blood drain from his face. It was a lie, a complete lie. He never drank at work. He only used company transport with permission from the workshop head.
It was impossible to look Igor Valentinovich in the eye. His expression showed the absolute confidence of a man who knows his words will not be challenged.
— “The plant management has decided to terminate your employment.” Zinaida Fyodorovna placed a folder with documents in front of Maxim. “By your own volition. I recommend you sign without any further questions.”
Maxim opened the folder with trembling hands. The resignation letter was already typed up. All he had to do was sign. In the “Reason” field, it said: “Systematic violation of labor discipline. Unsuitability for the position held.”
— “I don’t understand,” he raised his eyes to the director, a silent plea in them. “Anatoly Borisovich, you know this isn’t true. For twelve years, I…”
