Walter stared at her.
“You knew he was falsifying safety records?”
Tears gathered in Denise’s eyes, but her voice remained steady.
“Yes.”
“And you helped him?”
“Yes.”
The admission seemed to drain the air from the room.
Agent Price took the phone and placed it in an evidence pouch.
Denise did not resist.
Greg stepped toward the door.
Luis blocked it.
“Move,” Greg ordered.
“The investigators asked that no one leave.”
“You work for me.”
Luis glanced at Walter.
The chairman’s voice was low.
“Not anymore.”
Greg’s face reddened.
Mara returned to the screen and opened the recording that had been copied to my flash drive.
The video came from a small conference room camera used for remote audit meetings.
Greg had forgotten it was still recording after the auditors disconnected.
His image appeared on the wall monitor, seated across from me six months earlier.
In the video, I slid a folder toward him.
“The three vendors share bank routing patterns,” my recorded voice said.
“Their registered owner is Eleanor Mercer, but my mother has never owned a logistics company.
Someone used public property records to copy her signature.”
Greg barely glanced at the documents.
“Delete the duplicate files,” he said.
“These are not duplicates.”
“Then classify them as test records and remove them.”
“That would be falsifying the audit archive.”
On-screen, Greg leaned forward.
“Claire, you have a sick mother and a job that gives you excellent insurance.
Don’t confuse stubbornness with courage.”
I heard Denise gasp behind me.
I remembered that meeting too clearly.
Mom had been undergoing treatment then.
I had spent my lunch breaks on the phone with her doctors and my evenings helping her climb the porch steps.
Greg knew I was frightened of losing both her and the insurance that paid part of her medical bills.
He had used that fear deliberately.
The video continued.
“I won’t erase the records,” I said.
Greg’s expression hardened.
“Then I’ll find another reason to remove you.
Attendance.
Confidentiality.
Attitude.
Everyone breaks a rule eventually.”
Mara paused the recording.
No one needed an explanation.
The termination email sent during my mother’s funeral was not an impulsive act.
It was the final step in a plan Greg had described months before.
Walter stood and walked to the window overlooking the rows of cubicles.
Employees had begun gathering outside the conference room.
Through the glass, I recognized colleagues who had lowered their eyes while I packed my desk.
