Aaron called within minutes.
“Do not panic.”
Marcus stared at the withdrawn-offer email.
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re breathing like you’re about to punch drywall.”
“I’m considering alternatives.”
“Don’t.”
I took the phone from Marcus.
“He isn’t punching anything.”
Aaron paused.
“Chloe?”
“Yes.”
“Keep him away from walls.”
“I’m qualified.”
Marcus glared at me.
Aaron continued.
“The withdrawal is not necessarily bad.”
Marcus leaned toward the phone.
“They offered enough money to restart my life and pulled it twelve hours later. Explain the good part.”
“It tells us they’re reacting.”
“To what?”
“Probably the maintenance log.”
Marcus shook his head.
“They knew Thomas had it?”
“They know counsel asked for internal records. They may also know Cole visited you.”
I looked at Marcus.
“How?”
Aaron answered before he could.
“Companies don’t usually send regional directors to confront former employees without someone knowing.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“He came on his own.”
“Maybe.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning document everything.”
There was that word again.
Document.
It had become the theme of our lives.
Aaron continued.
“I’ve requested preservation of all emails, work orders, safety reports, text messages, and internal communications related to Westmore and your incident.”
Marcus frowned.
“What does preservation do?”
“In theory, prevents destruction.”
“In theory.”
“Yes.”
“At least lawyers are honest about something.”
Aaron ignored that.
“I also need names.”
“Of what?”
“Anyone working that day. Anyone who knew the railing had problems. Anyone who saw Cole. Anyone who handled work orders.”
Marcus leaned back.
“That’s a lot of people.”
“Start with the ones you trust.”
Marcus laughed softly.
“I haven’t spoken to most of them since I got hurt.”
“Then today is a good day.”
The call ended.
I expected Marcus to begin immediately.
Instead he stared at his phone.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Marcus.”
“I don’t know who would talk to me.”
“Call anyway.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I’m starting to notice you use that sentence when you don’t like advice.”
He looked at me.
“It’s versatile.”
“Name one person.”
He thought.
“Derrick.”
“Who’s Derrick?”
“Maintenance tech. Worked under me eight years.”
“Call him.”
Marcus shook his head.
“He visited me twice after surgery.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Then stopped.”
“Why?”
“Probably got told to.”
“Even more promising.”
He sighed.
Then searched his contacts.
The number was still there.
He called.
Voicemail.
Marcus hung up without leaving a message.
I stared.
“What was that?”
“He didn’t answer.”
“You’re allowed to leave words after the beep.”
“I know how voicemail works.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
He rolled his eyes and called again.
This time he left a message.
“Derrick, it’s Marcus. I know it’s been a while. I need to ask you something about Westmore. Call me if you can.”
He ended the call.
“There.”
“Excellent.”
“You look pleased with yourself.”
“I am.”
I went to work.
Marcus went to Maple Court.
He texted twice that day.
First: Boiler repair complete.
Second: Thomas says I’m not allowed to live in mechanical rooms.
I responded: Correct.
At lunchtime, I received an email from Harland Residential.
Formal notice.
Collection activity suspended until my unit was declared habitable.
Late fees waived.
Payment plan to be negotiated afterward.
I read it three times.
Then forwarded it to myself, saved a screenshot, and printed a copy from the nursing-home office computer.
Marcus had ruined me.
I now trusted nothing unless it existed in three places.
At five, Daniel called.
“I sent the three hundred early.”
I checked my bank app.
It was there.
Relief moved through me so quickly I had to sit.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
I almost answered.
Stopped.
Daniel heard the silence anyway.
“Chloe.”
“I said thank you.”
“How’s Liam?”
“Fine.”
“Can I talk to him tonight?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“You sound exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Do you need anything?”
The question nearly angered me.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it was late.
“I needed you to pay what you agreed to pay.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
He sighed.
“I could come up next weekend.”
I frowned.
“To see Liam?”
“Yes.”
My first instinct was distrust.
That was not fair to Liam.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“Don’t tell him until you know.”
“I know.”
“No, Daniel. You say that and then—”
“I know.”
His voice hardened.
“I’ve missed visits. I understand.”
“Then don’t make him prepare for one you might miss.”
Silence.
“I’ll confirm Friday.”
“Fine.”
When I returned to the temporary apartment, Marcus was cooking pasta.
Liam sat at the table doing fractions.
This had become disturbingly domestic.
Marcus glanced at me.
“You got mail.”
“Actual mail?”
“Management slid something under the door.”
I picked it up.
Another copy of the rent suspension.
“Good.”
Marcus smiled.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m unfamiliar with paperwork helping me.”
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Stopped.
“Derrick.”
He answered immediately.
“Hey.”
I moved toward the kitchen.
Marcus motioned for me to stay.
His expression changed as he listened.
“No. I’m not trying to get you fired.”
A pause.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Derrick, I’m asking what happened that day.”
Marcus sat.
His face tightened.
“You saw it?”
Silence.
“What exactly?”
I stopped breathing.
Marcus stood again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The answer on the other end was long.
Marcus walked toward the window.
“No, I get it.”
His voice had softened.
“I get it.”
Another silence.
“Can you meet?”
He looked at me.
“Tonight?”
He checked the time.
“Yeah. Send the place.”
After hanging up, Marcus stared at the phone.
“What did he say?”
“He saw Cole.”
“The day you fell?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Arguing with the safety contractor about closing the stairwell.”
My stomach tightened.
“Before you fell?”
“An hour before.”
Liam looked up from fractions.
We both immediately stopped.
Marcus pointed toward the worksheet.
“Homework.”
Liam narrowed his eyes.
“You always say that when something interesting happens.”
“Because homework becomes conveniently less interesting.”
“I have ears.”
“So do rabbits.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Fractions.”
Liam groaned.
Marcus turned back to me.
“Derrick wants to meet at a diner.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Chloe.”
“You met Cole outside my building because of this.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t come.”
I crossed my arms.
“Who watches Liam?”
That ended the argument.
Denise agreed.
She arrived twenty minutes later with popcorn and a movie.
She took one look at Marcus.
“Grocery-store man.”
“Denise.”
“Still alive, I see.”
“Against expectations.”
She looked at me.
“Please stop collecting dangerous errands.”
“No promises.”
The diner was nearly empty.
Derrick sat in a booth near the back.
He was broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and grease still embedded around his fingernails.
When Marcus approached, Derrick stood.
For a second, they seemed unsure what men with eight years of shared history did after a year of silence.
Then Derrick hugged him.
Hard.
Marcus stiffened.
Then hugged him back.
“I’m sorry, man.”
Derrick sat.
“I should’ve called.”
Marcus slid into the booth.
“You called now.”
I introduced myself.
Derrick nodded.
“So you’re Chloe.”
I looked at Marcus.
“What have you been telling people?”
“Almost nothing.”
Derrick gave a tired smile.
“He said a woman gave him a couch and somehow that turned into a job.”
“That is offensively incomplete.”
Marcus shrugged.
The waitress brought coffee.
Then Derrick became serious.
“The day of the burst pipe, Cole was already at Westmore.”
Marcus frowned.
“I thought he came after emergency crews arrived.”
“No.”
“Why was he there?”
“Inspection follow-up.”
Derrick leaned forward.
“That railing had been on the repair list for weeks.”
Marcus looked sick.
“I never saw it.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I put it in.”
The words landed heavily.
Marcus stared.
“You filed the complaint?”
“First one.”
“When?”
“Maybe five weeks before.”
“What happened?”
“Closed out.”
“By who?”
Derrick shook his head.
“System said management review.”
Marcus’s fingers curled around his coffee cup.
“Then?”
“I filed another after Mrs. Flores almost fell.”
“Tenant in 4C.”
Derrick nodded.
“That disappeared too.”
Marcus looked at me.
Same tenant from the document.
The pieces were locking together.
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“I thought you saw everything.”
Marcus’s voice broke slightly.
“I didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Derrick looked ashamed.
“The morning you fell, safety guy told Cole nobody should use that stairwell until anchors were repaired.”
“Name?”
“Paul Brennan.”
Marcus wrote it down.
“What happened?”
“Cole lost it.”
“About what?”
“Closing the stairs meant emergency crews had to use the service elevator and rear access.”
Derrick rubbed his face.
“He said it would slow response, increase water damage, and cost the company a fortune.”
Marcus went still.
“And then?”
“Cole told me to remove the closure chain.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
“You?”
“I refused.”
“Who did it?”
Derrick looked away.
“Cole.”
Silence.
Not just authorized.
Physically reopened.
Marcus asked, “You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did the report say management authorized reopening?”
“Because that’s what legal wrote later.”
Marcus leaned back.
His face was pale.
“What happened after I fell?”
Derrick took a long breath.
“Cole gathered us.”
“Who?”
“Me, Sandra from leasing, two contractors, building porter.”
“And?”
“He said nobody was to discuss internal maintenance history until corporate reviewed everything.”
Marcus stared.
“He told you not to talk?”
“He said inaccurate statements could cost jobs.”
“That’s a threat.”
Derrick nodded.
“I had two kids and a mortgage.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“You should.”
“No.”
Marcus’s voice was firm.
“I know what it feels like when one paycheck is the difference between housing and nowhere.”
Derrick looked at him.
That was the moment I understood Marcus had changed.
A year ago, he might have heard betrayal.
Now he heard fear.
Derrick reached into his jacket.
“I kept something.”
He placed a flash drive on the table.
Marcus stared.
“What is it?”
“Screenshots.”
“Of what?”
“The work-order system.”
“Why?”
“Because after your accident, tickets started disappearing.”
Marcus slowly picked up the drive.
Derrick continued.
“I photographed the screen before they wiped the second railing complaint.”
My skin prickled.
“Does it show dates?”
“Yes.”
“Names?”
“Yes.”
“Status history?”
“Yes.”
Marcus looked almost afraid to hold it.
“Why keep this?”
Derrick’s mouth tightened.
“Because one day I figured somebody would ask what actually happened.”
Marcus stared at the drive.
Then at Derrick.
“Will you tell Aaron?”
Derrick swallowed.
“I’ll tell the truth.”
“Even if Braxton finds out?”
His face showed the cost of the answer.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
We left the diner after nine.
In the parking lot, Marcus stood beside the car under a buzzing streetlamp.
He held the flash drive like it weighed pounds instead of ounces.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“You say that a lot lately.”
“It keeps being accurate.”
He looked toward the road.
“I thought I remembered the worst day of my life clearly.”
“And?”
“Every time we find something, I realize I only knew half of what was happening around me.”
I understood that too well.
Sometimes the most destabilizing thing was not discovering a new event.
It was discovering your old memory had been built from incomplete information.
Marcus slipped the drive into his inside pocket.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Aaron.
Marcus opened it.
His expression tightened.
“What?”
“Braxton filed a motion to close my workers’ compensation claim permanently.”
I stared.
“Can they do that?”
“They can try.”
He looked toward the diner where Derrick still sat inside.
Then touched the flash drive through his coat.
“They’re not trying to settle anymore.”
“What are they doing?”
Marcus looked at me.
“They’re trying to shut the door before we get through it.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Marcus Thought the New Evidence Would Save His Case, Until His Lawyer Warned That Telling the Truth Could Cost Derrick His Job
I Had Barely Enough Food for My Son, Yet I Couldn’t Walk Past the Man Freezing Outside the Grocery Store
Part 10 of 28
