Chapter 2 - The Cold Math
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Sitting behind his mahogany desk, Corbin opened his laptop. He wasn't a man who relied on emotions; he relied on data.
He pulled up a blank spreadsheet and began typing. First, he searched for the average price of infant formula in Rhode Island. Then he added diapers, baby wipes, basic utilities, public transit passes, and the average rent for a modest one-bedroom apartment in the working-class neighborhood of South Providence.
Next, Corbin opened his company’s payroll portal and pulled up Lianna’s employment file. She earned eighteen dollars an hour, working thirty-five hours a week.
He ran the numbers once. He frowned, convinced he had made an error in the formula. He ran them a second time.
The result was brutal. After taxes, rent, and basic survival necessities, Lianna had less than forty dollars left over each month. A single unexpected expense—a flat tire, a prescription, or a price hike on formula—would plunge her into immediate financial ruin.
“How did I let this happen in my own house?” Corbin muttered to himself, rubbing his face with his hands.
He glanced back at the screen, clicking on her original employment background application to see if he could arrange a discreet, dignified bonus or retroactive raise without hurting her pride.
His eyes scanned down to the line marked Marital Status / Emergency Contact.
Widowed. Late Husband: Ethan Prescott.
Corbin froze. The name hit him like a physical blow. He stared at the letters printed on the screen until they seemed to blur together.
May you like
“Ethan Prescott,” Corbin whispered aloud.
He knew that name. He had heard it before, long before Lianna had ever stepped foot into his house.
