My Wife's Boss Told Me To Get A Real Job At Our BBQ The Next Day He Applied For A Job At My Company

Three weeks. Richard disappeared into himself. He came to work, did his job, went home. He didn't socialize. He didn't brag. He didn't take credit for anything. Marcus told me he was the first one in and the last one out.

On the Tuesday of the third week, he came into my office and set a cashier's check on my desk. Forty-three thousand, two hundred dollars. Principal plus interest.

"I sold the boat," he said. "And my Rolex. And Karen — she took the second house. We're selling it. It's enough."

I picked up the check. I looked at it. "You're sure this is good?"

"It's good."

I called Diane's lawyer. I arranged the wire. By Friday, the money was in Voss & Palmer's account. Diane sent me a one-line email: Settlement accepted. Audit closed.

I told Richard. He sat down in the chair across from my desk — the same chair he'd sat in when I'd revealed myself — and he put his face in his hands.

"I thought I was finished," he said. His voice was muffled. "I thought — after the firm, after Karen, after everything — I thought it was over."

"It's not over," I said. "It's just beginning. You've still got sixty days of probation. And Richard — the money was one thing. The way you treat people? That's the thing that's going to follow you. You took credit for Claire's work for years. You humiliated me in my own home. You've spent your career stepping on people to get ahead. That's the reputation you have to fix. And money can't fix that."

He looked up. His eyes were red. "I know."

"Good. Then get back to work."

He left. I sat there, thinking. I'd done what I'd promised Claire. I'd saved Richard. But I hadn't fixed him. And I was starting to wonder whether he could be fixed.

That night, Claire and I celebrated — quietly, at home, with takeout sushi and a bottle of wine. The kids were at my mother's. We had the house to ourselves.

"Thank you," she said, raising her glass. "For doing that. For him. For me."

"I didn't do it for him," I said. "I did it for us."

She smiled. Then her face grew serious. "Dan, there's something I need to tell you. I've been offered a job. A real one. At a firm in Atlanta. VP of Marketing. It's — it's everything I've ever wanted. But it means moving. Or commuting. Or — I don't know. I wanted to talk to you about it."

I set my glass down. "Atlanta."

"Four hours by car. An hour by plane. Dan, I've been at Voss & Palmer for six years. I've hit the ceiling. This job — it's a chance to run a whole department. To build something. I want it. But I don't want to move the kids. And I don't want to leave you."

I sat with it. For three years, I'd been the one at home. The flexible one. The one who made the lunches and the doctor's appointments. And now Claire was the one with the big opportunity, and I had to decide what I wanted.

"Take it," I said.

She blinked. "What?"

"Take the job. We'll figure out the rest. You commute during the week. I'll keep things running here. We'll make it work. You've earned this, Claire. You've earned it more than anyone I know."

Tears came to her eyes. She came around the table and sat on my lap. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." I kissed her. "But we're going to need help. I can't run the company and be a full-time dad. It's time I came back to the office. Full-time. We'll hire a nanny. We'll make it work."

She held me tight. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were moving forward — together.