Ed Villein's Arc

Chapter 3 of 12

Ed makes coffee the next morning like always. The executives come in at eight, talking about schedules and transitions. One of them mentions a transfer. Ed keeps pouring, stays quiet, listens harder. The man with the silver watch says he's moving to the Atlanta facility in three weeks. Ed doesn't recognize which one at first. They all blur together in their suits and polished shoes. But when he empties the trash in the executive wing that afternoon, he sees the balloons. Bright colors clustered around a doorway, the banner stretched between them spelling it out in letters too cheerful for what it means. He checks the nameplate beside the door. The name matches the third signature on the memo, the one who approved dumping in his county for eighteen months straight. The parking lot tells him more. Reserved spot near the entrance, a luxury car with a single balloon tied to the antenna like some kind of victory flag. Ed walks past it twice during his evening rounds, memorizing the license plate he doesn't need, burning the image into his mind. Three weeks. The man who poisoned his land gets to drive away clean, collect his pension somewhere warm, forget Ed ever existed. He finds the calendar in the break room the next day while restocking paper towels. Someone propped it on the counter, the date circled in red marker. July tenth. The retirement party is scheduled for July ninth, the day before. Ed counts backward from today. Nineteen days left. Not three weeks—nineteen actual days before the signature disappears to Atlanta and takes one-fifth of his justice with it. He stands there with the paper towels in his hand, the math settling cold in his chest. He can't wait until all five executives are vulnerable at once. He has to move faster than he planned, or let this one walk free forever.