Chapter 7 - The Price of Not Looking
By noon, every Lakeview tenant was in a hotel paid for by Moretti Urban Partners.
Not because I was generous.
Because we had failed them.
I said that to Hannah when she accused me of trying to buy forgiveness.
“You can’t fix everything with a credit card,” she said.
“I know.”
“No, you’re learning.”
She was right again, and I was getting tired of how often that happened.
Back at headquarters, Denise locked down Martin’s access to company files. Too late. He had already copied thousands of documents and transferred money from two discretionary accounts.
The board called an emergency meeting.
One director asked whether I had known about the vacancy strategy.
“No.”
Another asked whether I had approved the cost-reduction targets that created pressure to use it.
“Yes.”
The room changed.
That was the answer no one wanted me to give.
My public-relations chief slid a statement toward me during a break. It blamed Westbridge, called the failures isolated, and promised a full review.
I pushed it back.
“It’s false.”
“It’s defensible.”
“Those are different things.”
At six, I returned home to find Hannah’s resignation letter on my desk.
She had left it with Sam.
I called her.
“I’m not accepting this.”
“You don’t get to reject my choices.”
“You need the job.”
“And that sentence is exactly why I’m leaving.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued, softer now. “I can’t be the poor employee in your redemption story. I can’t come to work every day wondering whether every meal, every schedule change, every favor is because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“Good. Then respect me.”
I sat in silence.
“Take paid leave,” I said finally. “Not charity. Administrative leave while you’re a witness in an investigation involving your employer. Denise says it’s appropriate.”
Hannah exhaled.
“Two weeks.”
“Agreed.”
“And no surprise gifts.”
“Agreed.”
“No paying my rent behind my back.”
I winced.
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was.”
“Vincent.”
It was the first time she had used my first name.
Then Sam opened my office door without knocking.
His face was gray.
He placed an envelope in front of me.
Inside were three photographs.
Hannah leaving the hotel.
Eli walking to school.
Noah standing beside a bus stop.
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Across the bottom of the last photo, someone had written in black marker:
STOP DIGGING.
