Chapter 4 - THE EVIDENCE THAT HAD MY FACEI showed Dad the photograph.
He studied it for several seconds before shaking his head.
“That's not you.”
“It looks exactly like me.”
“No.”
He pointed toward the woman's left wrist.
“You don't wear your watch on that side.”
I looked closer.
He was right.
I had worn my watch on my right wrist since high school.
The woman in the photograph wore one on her left.
That alone didn't prove anything, but it gave me somewhere to begin.
I enlarged the image.
Her hair was tied into the same low ponytail I usually wore at work.
Her navy cardigan looked identical to mine.
Even the employee badge appeared genuine.
But something about the photograph bothered me.
The timestamp showed Tuesday at 2:14 p.m.
I remembered that Tuesday.
Dad had a neurology appointment.
I had taken three hours of approved leave to accompany him.
At 2:14 p.m., I was sitting beside him in a medical examination room at Allegheny General Hospital.
I still had the parking receipt.
“Dad, we can prove I wasn't there.”
He smiled.
“Then do it.”
I called Nia Washington.
She answered personally.
After I explained the situation, she asked several precise questions.
“Do you have the original email?”
“Yes.”
“Preserve it. Don't forward it to anyone except me, and don't alter the attachment.”
“Okay.”
“Did you access restricted records?”
“No. I requested archived incorporation files through the employee records portal. I had read-only access to those documents.”
“Did you take any files without permission?”
“Only the documents Vanessa handed me to deliver upstairs.”
“Good. Don't contact her directly.”
I glanced at Dad.
“She says I stole information.”
“Then she'll need evidence. An image resembling you isn't automatically proof.”
Nia asked me to bring the coffee tin, the hospital records, and my employment documents to her office the following morning.
Before we ended the call, she added something important.
“Ella, don't resign.”
“Why would I?”
“People sometimes resign because they're frightened or embarrassed. If you've done nothing wrong, don't let anyone pressure you into making their job easier.”
That evening, I barely slept.
I kept thinking about the photograph.
Somewhere inside the company, someone had been willing to manufacture evidence against an employee whose annual salary was less than the cost of Adrian Vale's newest car.
What frightened me most was how ordinary it seemed to Vanessa.
She had sent the image as casually as she used to send corrections to my invoices.
As if ruining someone else's life were another task on her calendar.
The next morning, I wore the same old navy dress.
Dad noticed when I came out of my bedroom.
“You're wearing that again?”
I looked down at the repaired cuff.
“It's clean.”
He smiled.
“I know. I just thought you'd want something different for the lawyer.”
I sat beside him.
“Dad, when Vanessa insulted this dress, I used to feel embarrassed.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because everybody else had nice clothes. They talked about vacations and designer handbags. I always felt like I didn't belong.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Ella, do you remember why I bought that dress?”
“For graduation.”
“No. I mean why I chose that particular one.”
I shook my head.
“The woman at the store told us there were more fashionable options. But you tried that one on and stood in front of the mirror smiling like you'd found something wonderful.”
His voice grew tender.
“I bought the dress because you loved it.”
My eyes stung.
“You looked at yourself and saw a young woman ready to begin her life. I wanted you to keep seeing her.”
I leaned forward and hugged him.
He held me with his stronger arm.
For a moment, everything felt simple again.
Then my phone rang.
It was Luis Mendoza, a machine operator from Riverbend.
I knew him because he sometimes called accounts payable about delayed vendor invoices.
He was fifty-one, broad-shouldered, with a voice roughened by years of factory noise.
“Ella, are you okay?”
“I'm fine. Why?”
“People are saying you stole company secrets.”
I closed my eyes.
“That isn't true.”
“I know.”
His certainty surprised me.
“How?”
“Because Vanessa told us you were trying to steal retirement money from the employees. That's exactly the kind of story somebody tells when they don't want anyone asking questions.”
I sat straighter.
“What else did she say?”
“That you were attempting to block the sale of Riverbend.”
“There's a proposed sale. Yes.”
Luis became quiet.
“Do you know who the buyer is?”
“Riverside Industrial Holdings.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the supervisors have been telling us a buyer will keep the plant open. But yesterday, somebody put colored tags on half the machinery.”
“What kind of tags?”
“Equipment removal tags.”
My stomach tightened.
“Are they planning to move the machines?”
“That's what it looks like.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
He paused.
“Ella, my younger brother was Mateo Mendoza.”
Everything inside me went still.
“The man injured in 2013?”
“Yes.”
I glanced toward Dad.
Luis continued.
“Your father tried to help him. Nobody at the plant forgot that.”
I gripped the phone.
“My father says he kept records of what happened.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I helped him make copies.”
I sat upright.
“Luis, where are those copies now?”
“I thought he took them.”
“He left some documents in an old locker.”
Luis exhaled.
“Number seventeen.”
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at me.
“You know about it?” I asked.
“Your father and I used to keep extra work gloves in that locker. When the company moved us to the new section, he asked me not to let anyone empty it.”
“Is it still there?”
“The old wing was sealed off, but the lockers are still standing.”
“Can you get inside?”
“Maintenance has a key. But there's something you need to know.”
“What?”
“Two men from corporate came here this morning. They're looking through the old offices.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Who are they?”
“I didn't recognize one. The other was Malcolm Pierce's personal assistant.”
I stood.
“Luis, don't touch anything until I speak to my attorney.”
“All right.”
“And don't tell anyone about locker seventeen.”
He hesitated.
“Ella, I think it's too late.”
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“Why?”
“Because one of those men just walked into the old locker room.”
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