Chapter 3 - The Denied Claim
The silence in the parking lot was suddenly heavier than the winter air. Nathaniel stared at the woman, his mind racing through the safety records of his company. There had been only one fatality on a Whitmore site in the last five years.
"Marcus Evans," Nathaniel said, the name leaving his lips as a hollow whisper.
The woman flinched, stepping back. "How do you know my husband's name?"
"I... I read about the accident in the papers," Nathaniel lied, the words tasting like ash. He was the founder of the company. He had signed the sympathy card. He had authorized the two-million-dollar insurance payout to ensure the young widow and her child would never have to worry about money again. "But his family was compensated. The company's insurance—"
"The company lied," Sarah interrupted, her voice cracking. She reached into her worn leather purse and pulled out a folded, heavily creased envelope bearing the Whitmore Construction seal. "They sent this three weeks after the funeral. Claim denied due to 'gross employee negligence.' They said Marcus was drunk on the scaffolding. My husband hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in ten years."
Nathaniel took the letter, his eyes scanning the corporate letterhead in the dim light. It was signed by Richard Vance, his Executive Vice President—the man Nathaniel had trusted to run daily operations since his wife Caroline died.
"They evicted us last week," Sarah continued, her tears finally spilling over. "The lawyers said fighting a corporation like Whitmore would take years and thousands of dollars I don't have. So if you're a reporter, leave us alone. We have nothing left."
Nathaniel looked at the little girl, Lily, who was peering at him through the frost-covered window. He had trusted Richard with his company, with his legacy.
"I'm not a reporter," Nathaniel said, his voice hardening with a resolve he hadn't felt in years. "My name is Nathaniel. And I have an empty guesthouse about ten miles from here. It's warm, it's safe, and there is a lock on the inside of the door. Please."
May you like
Sarah hesitated, her maternal instinct warring with desperation. Then, a violent shiver wracked Lily's small frame. Sarah nodded once.
An hour later, Nathaniel was walking out of the heated guesthouse on his estate, having settled the two of them in. As he crossed the snow-covered lawn toward the main house, a pair of headlights suddenly swept across the driveway, illuminating the iron gates. A sleek black Mercedes pulled in. Nathaniel froze. It was Richard.
