Chapter 13 - A New Desk, A Clean Slate
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The following Monday, I officially stepped into my new office at the national headquarters of the Workers' Rights and Financial Advocacy Network.
My office was not located in a towering downtown skyscraper with panoramic city views. It was on the second floor of a charming, brick-faced building near the university, featuring a large window that looked out over a row of blooming maple trees.
My desk was an old, sturdy oak table—not unlike the one my father had built in his workshop.
As I neatly arranged my laptop, a framed photograph of Nora, my father, and little Evelyn sitting on our new back porch, a soft knock echoed at the open door.
I looked up to see Helen, the director of the network, smiling warmly in the doorway.
"How is the new office treating you, Clara?" Helen asked, walking in and handing me a stack of fresh case files.
"It feels wonderful, Helen," I smiled, running my hand across the smooth wooden surface of my desk. "It feels like a clean slate."
"Good, because your slate is about to get very busy," Helen laughed, placing the files down. "These are the initial intake papers for a group of union workers whose health insurance benefits were illegally manipulated by a manufacturing firm down in the industrial district. They need someone who knows how to read the hidden ledger lines."
I opened the top file, scanning the columns of numbers with a sharp, practiced eye. The familiar thrill of the work washed over me—not the cold, ruthless thrill of corporate survival, but the fierce, purposeful joy of protecting people who couldn't protect themselves.
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"Tell them I'll have a complete forensic breakdown of their accounts by tomorrow afternoon," I said, looking up at Helen with absolute confidence.
"That's my girl," Helen grinned, turning toward the door. "Welcome to the team, Clara."
