Rachel's Worst Night
Chapter 10 - Rachel's Worst Night
Noah was asleep when Rachel returned home.
She had not been arrested.
Not yet.
Samuel had convinced Harbor security that detaining her without police involvement would create a legal disaster.
But the accusation remained.
The following morning, Rachel's face appeared on a local business website.
FORMER EMPLOYEE ACCUSED OF CORPORATE DATA THEFT
By lunchtime, another headline appeared.
DISGRUNTLED ENGINEER TARGETS FORMER EMPLOYER
Rachel shut off her phone.
“I knew this would happen.”
Eleanor sat across from her.
“I won't let them destroy you.”
“You can't stop them.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You couldn't stop them from destroying Daniel.”
The room went silent.
Rachel immediately regretted the words.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
Eleanor looked toward Noah's bedroom.
“You're right.”
For the first time, Rachel saw the fear Eleanor had been hiding.
Not fear of losing money.
Fear of discovering that the company she had loved had become something she no longer recognized.
Rachel sat beside her.
“What are we going to do?”
“We stop defending ourselves.”
“What?”
“Victor wants everyone asking whether you stole files.”
“He doesn't want them asking why the files exist.”
Rachel understood.
“Make the defect the story.”
“Exactly.”
They contacted three families listed in Daniel's records.
The first refused to speak.
The second had moved.
The third answered.
Her name was Patricia Monroe.
Her husband, a retired firefighter named Frank, had used a Model Aster chair after losing mobility from a stroke.
One afternoon, the caster locked while he traveled down a wheelchair ramp.
Frank was thrown forward.
He suffered a severe shoulder injury.
The family's complaint had been rejected.
Harbor blamed “improper operation.”
Patricia had kept everything.
Photographs.
Medical reports.
Letters.
And the chair.
When Rachel inspected it, she didn't need an hour.
She needed thirty seconds.
“Same failure.”
Patricia stared.
“You're sure?”
Rachel nodded.
Patricia sat down and began crying.
“For four years, Frank blamed himself.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Patient error.
Operator misuse.
Different words.
Same strategy.
Then Patricia said something unexpected.
“We weren't the only family.”
“How do you know?”
“Because someone contacted us.”
“Who?”
“A nurse.”
Eleanor opened her eyes.
“What nurse?”
Patricia disappeared into another room and returned with an old business card.
The name printed across it stopped Eleanor cold.
Melanie Brooks, Physical Therapist.
The same woman who had worked with Eleanor during rehabilitation.
May you like
On the back, Melanie had written:
This wasn't your husband's fault.
