The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Three

KYRA

Iquirk an eyebrow at the screen. How is it that my inbox gets so full overnight? I leave the office late most days, making sure we’re still on target and have enough inventory. That is my main focus, but making sure I’ve dealt with my emails is one of the last things I do before I leave.

I love what I do. It’s all good, but overwhelming, especially as the company has grown, and I’ve taken more staff on. I would take on a PA but I don’t want to waste money on things like that. Every penny needs to be spent on making other people’s lives better. I can live with being overwhelmed and overworked. This isn’t a job to me. It’s my passion.

Inviting the woman from last night for an interview is a slight deviation from the norm for me. We tend not to take people who approach us directly, rather, we prefer to see people who have been vetted and recommended to us from one of the social services departments. Yet she sought me out.

That tells me she’s desperate, but also, perhaps, that she’s smart. That she’s proactive. That there’s more to her than meets the eye.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

“Come in,” I holler.

The door opens and the woman from last night from the homeless food session appears. “Hi.” She shuffles in, looking hesitant. “You said for me to come over.”

“Hey, Yvette, isn’t it?” I rise up.

“Is this a good time? I can come back later if you want.” She looks nervous.

“This is perfect timing.”

“Uh … I was just leaving.” Fredrich picks up his paper coffee cup and leaves. Simona is on the factory floor, doing the daily rounds and checking the products being made. With the small office now empty, I hold out my hand and Yvette shakes it, her thin, bony hand so fragile in mine. In the cold light of day, she looks frailer than I remember.

“Take a seat.” I motion for her to sit down. “Would you like a drink? Something hot? Or cold?”

She shakes her head.

“So, you would like to work here?”

She nods. I’m going to have to coax it out of her. So many of the people we employ have had difficult lives. Some have known hardship their entire life, and for others their lives fell apart after a major event. Getting laid off, discovering a partner was unfaithful, having a child or a partner die, has hit like a juggernaut, making them spiral and crash. Some turn to alcohol, some to drugs, some gamble, but all of them fall apart.

I don’t know this woman’s story, but I can see she that she is desperate.

“I have two children.” She stops and swallows. Her chest rises and dips, as if it takes a great deal of effort to try to keep it together. I force myself to remain quiet and listen. “I need to be able to take care of my children.”

I nod. “Your husband …?”

She blinks more than is normal, at that. “He’s not here. He won’t be able to … he can’t …”

“He can’t what?” My voice is low, almost like a coaxing whisper.

“He can’t touch us now.” She lifts her head. I see scars that I didn’t notice before. I thought they were lines, but there is a scar above her eyebrow, and one below her lip. I try not to stare, knowing that she might feel self-conscious, but already I have a picture of this woman’s life and struggle.

It’s not advisable to hire people that I know nothing about, and this is a risk, because some vulnerable people can be paranoid, psychotic and a risk to others, as well as to themselves. Still, I cannot bring myself to turn her away.

“Do you have experience? Have you worked anywhere before?”

“I used to work in an office, but it was a long time ago. A long time …” Her voice trails away.

She scratches her neck, and I notice more scars. She goes on to tell me that she lives in a women’s shelter, but now that her husband poses no danger, she has been given a small room in an apartment to help people like her.

“Why does your husband pose no danger?” It’s a question I have to ask, even though it is obvious that any talk about her husband makes her uneasy.

“He’d dead. Got beaten to death in prison.”

Her reply stuns me, even after all the interviews I have conducted, I should be better prepared, but I’m not. Every one of these people have a story to tell, and each story is hard to comprehend. “I’m … I’m so sorry.” Though I suspect that she’s not. I ask her about the duties she used to perform, and the answers she gives me tell me that she is way more qualified than I first thought. That she is not who I thought she was. This woman, who was qualified to work in an office, now wants to work.

By the end of our talk, I am suitably impressed enough to take her on. She says she can’t start today, but that she will be here first thing tomorrow morning. This will give me time to process her paperwork.

Simona comes in just as Yvette leaves, and I introduce them both.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Simona looks worried. “She didn’t come from the agency.”

“She’s legit. She’s okay. She needs help.” I understand her concerns. I’ve broken my rule of not hiring directly, but my instinct tells me that Yvette is a desperate woman in need of help. I like to think we can give her that help.

My mom was one of these women—not quite as desperate, there was no husband in prison, or dying. Just a cheating husband who walked out one day after his lover turned up on our doorstep in tears, and very visibly pregnant. My mom was a single mom who raised two daughters. She worked three jobs just to keep a roof over our heads and she could have benefited from something like this. That’s why I do it, why I’m driven to the point of being obsessed. Why I devote all my time and energy to Redhill, much to Simona’s annoyance.

She thinks I should be spending time going out, having fun and meeting Mr. Right. At the age of twenty-eight, I’m not looking for Mr. Right because he doesn’t exist. My last boyfriend was a testament to that.

I have people to help. My younger sister, Penny, is in college and that’s one thing taken care of.

Between keeping her in college and running Redhill, there is no time for anything else.