Eight Thousand Gallons of Milk and a Small Blue Ledger

voice said from the far end of the table.

“All in favor,” Harold said.

Every hand at the table went up, except for Gregory’s.

“The motion carries,” Harold said. He began to gather his papers, his old hands moving with a slow, deliberate neatness. “Wayne, I want a full inventory of the warehouse by five o’clock.”

“Yes, sir,” Wayne said, tucking his pencil continue reading …