20
Cade got into work early on Monday. As much as he dreaded it, he knew today was D-Day. It was time to start working on the seventeenth floor, what he had not-so-affectionately began to call “Red October,” named after the famed Russian submarine movie. He grabbed a cardboard box from the copy room and emptied his desk contents, not that there was that much to grab.
Whitmore walked over but stopped short. “What the . . . ? What are you doing? Wait a minute, there’s no way they fired you! Well, you can just kiss my gay white ass if they think they can fire you! You know, I’m so sick of this crap!”
Cade held up his hands, already laughing. Just like old Whitmore to get all spun up about something that he didn’t yet understand.
“No, no. Dude, relax. I’m not fired.” Cade’s scrunched face
