He looked back at her.
“I left something on your desk. Consider it the final settlement of my account.”
After Clara left the room, Ethan walked back to his private office. Resting on the pristine mahogany desk was a small, neatly wrapped gift box. He untied the ribbon and opened it.
Inside was a crisp, brand-new fifty-dollar bill, tucked neatly inside a silver frame. Beneath it, a small engraved plaque read:
“For the formula. With interest.”
Ethan let out a soft laugh—the first real, unburdened laugh he had enjoyed in years. He placed the frame right next to his computer, where he could see it every single day. A reminder that sometimes, a wrong number is exactly what it takes to make the world right.
