Chapter 13 - Forty-Eight Hours
The independent committee gave management forty-eight hours to produce the full asset-transfer analysis and the trust authority papers.
Victor answered with four hundred pages of objections.
Linda's attorneys demanded the committee exclude me from all communications.
My father called the deadline irresponsible.
Meanwhile, the company's lenders began asking questions.
Employees began sending Rebecca old reports they had been afraid to share.
Some messages were useless rumors.
Others contained precise dates, work orders, and names investigators could verify.
The sheer number was overwhelming.
I spent the first night wanting to read every one myself.
Miriam stopped me.
“You are not your own investigation team.”
“I know how to investigate.”
“And you have a broken arm, a pending civil case, and active military obligations.”
She moved my phone out of reach.
“Let the people with lawful access do their jobs.”
I hated that she was right.
At 3:30 the next afternoon, an employee from supplier quality sent the special committee an overlooked calendar invitation.
The meeting had taken place before the first disputed shipment.
Its participants included Linda and Victor.
The meeting title was simply: COST NORMALIZATION.
Attached was a spreadsheet comparing approved materials against a cheaper substitute.
One column warned that the substitute lacked validation for certain uses.
Another estimated annual savings in seven figures.
The final column was marked APPROVAL OWNER.
Dylan Mercer.
There was no mystery about why an ordinary quality officer had been afraid to refuse.
The instruction had come from the executive level.
But the spreadsheet was not the last surprise.
A version history showed that Rebecca's written warning had been removed from the board presentation before the quarterly certification.
Someone had deleted the slide that identified patient risk.
The editing account belonged to my father.
My phone rang at exactly 5:00.
It was him.
“If this goes to the regulators, everyone suffers,” he said.
“Then you should have fixed it when Rebecca warned you.”
“Don't pretend you understand what it takes to keep a company alive.”
“I understand what it takes to keep a patient alive.”
He went silent.
For the first time, he had no polished answer.
Then he said something soft enough to sound almost kind.
“You have until tomorrow night to accept my settlement.”
“What settlement?”
“Walk away from the votes, and I'll make sure your service record stays private.”
The deadline told me what the proposal was really worth.
He wasn't offering peace.
May you like
He was offering to withhold another threat.
