Launch: Reese's

Craig gave his baby girl to her mother. Tammy bounced the baby on her knee trying to keep her quiet during the service. The pastor preached at the pulpit, his head shaved from chemo. "God," he said, "provides us with the necessities of our spiritual well-being. And to show our faith we tithe. We give back a portion of what he has already given us."

The usher passed the collection plate from the front to Craig's row. Tammy pushed an envelope into his hands. Craig thumbed the flap open to see the money. It was much more than Craig wanted to tithe. He didn't want to at all. The baby needed it more than the church. Craig looked down the row. He saw an elder write a check with too many zeros.

The plate was coming faster down the row. His wife was looking at him. Craig took half of the money and put it into his pocket.

Tammy and Craig had married young, Tammy already with child. Craig worked long hours with Reese's Construction, and Tammy struggled with the pregnancy. But with Julie growing into an almost-perfect toddler, work was regular and they were gaining ground. Yes, Craig was a born-again. But for now, his baby girl took the first cut from his check. Tammy prayed for his soul.

That night Craig made a spreadsheet on his computer. He typed at the oversized laptop, the battery uselessly anchoring him to his desk. "We're millionaires," he said amused with himself. "Come here, Tammy."

Tammy had put Julie to bed and hoped the little girl would sleep for the next few hours. "Did you say we were millionaires?" She wore Craig's shirt like a sleep top. Her wet hair smelled like coconut from the bargain bin shampoo. "If we're millionaires, can we get soap and shampoo that hasn't been discounted yet?" She looked at the future expected value of their savings. 1.3 million in big red digits flashed in the box.

"All I have to do is invest entirely, all my salary in a money market account, and not touch it 'til I retire," he said.

Tammy snorted. "Nice dream," she nuzzled her face against his rough stubble. "You can't let Julie's condition worry you."

"Tammy," he said flatly, "there are lesions on our baby girl's brain. That's something I'll never get over. She needs me."

"Your insurance from your job covers it. You should thank god more than you do."

They slept together. Craig woke early. Tammy pretended to sleep while he dressed for work. He poured some coffee into a thermos and stepped out on the dark porch. The painted white house fit well with the dirty red pick-up and the gravel driveway. H waited for the coffee to wake up his blood, to warm himself under the plaid jacket, to get warm under the last darkness before the dawn. Craig pinched himself. He left cold.

He pulled up to the factory. The sun was peeking over the horizon. A man on the morning shift walked out. Craig called out to him. "Morning," he said. "What are you doing?"

"Walking out," the man said, holding an envelope and a check. "There wasn't supposed to be any layoffs."

"What happened?" Craig asked.

"There are a lot of red cards in cubbies." Craig had seen guys go. The heads like to give people their notices on Friday. The end of the word week made it easier for them to cope with it. Monday was cruel.

In the cubby room, guys had red cards. The trash was full of them. Craig picked some off the floor. His locker neighbor was looking through the slits of his locker. The card couldn't be seen. For the moment, until he opened it, he still had a job.

"Joel," he said. "Did you get a card? Have you looked?"

"No. Give me a minute, I want to be prepared for it." He grabbed the handle.

"Do me a favor," Craig always said, even if he was the one doing the favor. "Why don't we look together?" Joel agreed. They both held the handle to their locker. On three, they both opened their lockers wide. Joel saw the card hanging by the tab inside his locker. The color stopped his heart.

Craig also found a card. It was white with a black dot. "White?" he said. He shut his locker.

Joel heard him and saw the card. "My god, you are so blessed." He threw his red card into the trash. "You're getting promoted."

Craig went up to the office overlooking the factory floor. The letters of the reversed Reese's sign shadowed the iron stairs. Through the glazed glass of the office door, a man sat at Mr. Reese's desk talking on the landline. Craig pushed through the door. With the flick of his wrist, the man sitting at Mr. Reese's desk waved him over. He wasn't Mr. Reese.

The man finished his call, saying, "While you're there, make sure the scuba mask is clear." On the desk, the man had pulled out employee insurance records. Craig saw his name labeling a plain vanilla folder. "Mr. Thomason," the man said, opening the folder. "You found my note, yes?"

Craig showed him the white card with running black ink. "Yes, I got this. Can I ask where is Mr. Reese?"

"He has retired. I've bought this property." Craig was confused. He didn't understand how a good man like Reese would sell the factory to this monster. "I've already liquidated most everything here. But looking over these records, I've found something quite valuable."

"Really?" He wanted to hit him. Nothing was right. How was he supposed to work without the others. The factory was empty except for him and - "I'm sorry, but what is your name?"

"Rockwell," he said. "And I have a position for you, a seasonal job offshore. If you're concerned about your benefits, they will transfer over." Rockwell flipped through the file.

"Why me?" Craig asked.

"You have a good family. Julie is three months. If you take my offer, her operation would be covered, no need for medication. With the raise you'd be getting, you could put down for a bigger home in a better neighborhood." He pulled out an official BankCorp rejection. "The one on Willow Drive across from the park." He put the folder and file down. "I like to help people who have talent. You're a welder, and your work is solid. Do you have any experience working underwater?" Rockwell picked up the phone.

"No."

"Would you like some?"