Chapter 1

I run payroll at a local food packaging plant. I make twenty-one hundred dollars a month.

Three years ago, I added a fake name to the active roster. David Miller, thirty-one, packaging department.

His driver’s license was photoshopped for two hundred bucks. His badge photo was AI-generated. The man didn’t exist.

Every month, his base salary of thirty-two hundred dollars plus perfect attendance bonuses was deposited into a secret bank account I opened.

The plant's management was absolute trash. The owner was greedy to the bone, and workers cycled out every three months.

The floor managers couldn't even remember their own workers' names. Nobody cared about one extra "David Miller" on the list.

Three years. A total of one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars.

My daughter, Lily, has congenital heart disease. Her second open-heart surgery is scheduled for the 8th of next month. I’m still fifteen thousand dollars short.

I already wrote David’s resignation letter. The moment this month’s direct deposit hits my account, I’m wiping him from the system forever.

Yesterday evening, two local deputies walked into the plant's front office.

They slapped a photo onto my desk. It was a middle-aged man I had never seen before.

"David Miller. He’s listed on your company’s health insurance. We pulled his body out of the south river canal last week. It's a homicide."

"You're in charge of payroll and attendance. Was he at work recently?"

I stared at that completely unfamiliar face for three agonizing seconds.

"Yes. He was here until last Thursday. Then he called in sick, and he hasn't been back since."

"Are those blue suits gone?"

Richard Sterling’s head popped out from behind his office door, showing only half his face.

"They're gone, Richard."

"Get in here. Lock the door."

I followed him inside. He clicked the deadbolt shut and stood by the window instead of sitting. He was spinning a wooden toothpick between his fingers—the same dirty toothpick he’d been chewing on for three days.

"What did they ask you?"

"They said David Miller was dead. Found him in the canal. They wanted me to verify his timecards."

"What did you tell them?"

"I said he worked until last Thursday, then took sick leave."

"Do we have a physical doctor's note on file?"

"No. But I can fake one."

"Don't bother," he said, snapping the toothpick in half and tossing it into the trash. "Remove David from the payroll system today. Mark his status as 'voluntary termination' due to job abandonment. Have it done before you clock out."

"Today?"

"Are you deaf, Chloe?"

"Richard, the police just asked about him. Removing him from the active roster right now looks—"

"The guy is dead! Why the hell are we still paying his benefit premiums? To sponsor his gravestone?" His voice shook, and his flabby chin trembled.

I stared at his face.

This man was incredibly stingy. He refused to change the cafeteria's frying oil until it turned pitch black. He docked workers two dollars if their bathroom breaks exceeded five minutes. He even demanded we print on both sides of every single piece of scrap paper. A man who would throw a fit over two dollars was suddenly not caring about whether a "dead worker's" family would sue the company for compensation.

Instead, he asked a very strange question.

"Did the cops mention fingerprints? Did they run the corpse's prints?"

This was too weird.

"They didn't mention it."

It was as if a bone had been sucked out of his spine. He slumped against the window frame and let out a long, shaky breath.

"Just do it. I want to see the payroll termination receipt on my desk before five."

I walked toward the door.

"One more thing," he called out. "Keep your mouth shut. Don't say a word about this to anyone. Especially not Brenda."

"Why—"

"Just shut up and do what you're told!"

The hallway was empty. I slid down against the wall and crouched there for several seconds, my knees feeling like cotton.

David Miller was a ghost I created. He didn't exist. But Richard's reaction was far more panicked than mine. What was he so afraid of?

My phone buzzed. It was the children's hospital.

"Ms. Vance, Lily’s pre-op results are back. Her pulmonary artery pressure has spiked. The chief surgeon recommends moving the surgery up to next Wednesday."

"But we agreed on the 8th of next month!"

"The little girl can't wait. We need the remaining fifteen thousand dollars by 5 PM the day after tomorrow. Otherwise, we’ll have to give her slot to the next patient on the waiting list."

"I... I will get the money. I promise."

"Also, Lily’s oxygen levels dropped to eighty-nine today. She keeps asking when her mommy is coming to visit."

I hung up and pressed the heels of my hands hard against my eyes.

Fifteen thousand dollars. By 5 PM the day after tomorrow.

David Miller’s payroll deposit hadn't cleared yet. Even if it did, it would be less than three thousand dollars. Now that he was terminated, I might not even get that.

The sharp click of high heels echoed down the hallway, accompanied by the annoying sound of a cheap plastic stick tapping against front teeth.

Brenda Higgins. Our quality control manager. She was in her early forties, always strutting around the greasy plant carrying a knockoff Coach bag. Her real job wasn't quality control—she was Richard's personal spy. If someone was late, or if someone took an extra pair of work gloves, Richard's phone would buzz with her voice memos within five minutes. She called it "being a responsible corporate citizen."

"Hey, what did those badges want earlier?" She leaned against my cubicle partition.

"Just a routine check. Nothing to do with you."

"A check on who?"

I didn't answer. I opened the HR portal to process David's termination.

She leaned her head over, squinting at my monitor.

"David Miller? From packaging?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't I remember this guy? There are only thirty people in packaging. I do spot-checks there every single day. I know every face on that floor."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

She pulled her cherry lollipop out of her mouth, smirked, and tapped the stick against her teeth.

"Three years. Over a thousand days. And this guy has been a ghost the entire time. Isn't that wild?"