Chapter 4 - THE BOARD’S VERSION
Nora did not answer again.
Marcus contacted the independent directors and requested immediate preservation of Cold Room Three.
The board secretary replied that company security had already sealed the pilot plant because of “suspected tampering by Elena Hayes.”
My name appeared on the incident order.
The order had been signed electronically from my company account at 8:42 p.m.
At 8:42, Ivan had been holding my hand against the grill.
The company’s system showed my credentials authorizing destruction of expired materials in Cold Room Three.
Rachel asked whether Ivan knew my password.
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“My assistant had emergency access through the company vault.”
“Who controls the vault?”
“Information security.”
The information-security director was Ivan’s college roommate.
Marcus requested server logs through the audit committee.
Cynthia blocked the request, arguing that the committee had exceeded its mandate.
The three independent directors called an emergency meeting.
I attended remotely from the hotel with my bandaged hand resting on a pillow.
Ivan joined from the estate.
A faint bruise darkened his ankle.
No mark appeared on his hands.
Cynthia began by describing my “breakdown.”
I interrupted.
“This meeting concerns falsified system access and missing samples.”
“It concerns your destruction of a company event,” she said.
Marcus asked Ivan whether he intentionally pressed my hand against the grill.
“My wife reached toward the controls while intoxicated.”
“I drank sparkling water.”
“You were emotional.”
“Did you touch her hand?” Marcus asked.
Ivan’s jaw tightened.
“I attempted to stop her from burning herself.”
The independent directors requested that he step aside during the inquiry.
Cynthia controlled enough family shares to block immediate removal.
She proposed suspending me instead.
The vote divided.
Three independent directors against four family-aligned members.
My suspension remained.
Then Marcus played part of the live-call audio.
Ivan’s voice:
I wouldn’t even feed this slop to my dogs.
Marcus paused it.
“What product were you discussing?”
Ivan leaned back.
“My wife’s cooking.”
“The food was prepared by company staff from sealed pilot samples.”
“That is her claim.”
One executive, Martin Cole, cleared his throat.
He had supervised commercial operations for nine years.
“The containers came from the pilot plant.”
Cynthia looked at him.
His courage lasted three seconds.
“I did not inspect the labels,” he added quickly.
The meeting ended without resolution.
Minutes later Martin received notice that his position was under strategic review.
The lesson reached every other executive.
My hotel room phone rang at midnight.
Nora Ellis.
She was crying.
“They emptied Cold Room Three.”
“Are you safe?”
“For now.”
“What happened to the cooler?”
“I moved one tray before security arrived.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You called me.”
“I needed to know whether Marcus Reed is real.”
“He is.”
“Then tell him Batch Fourteen was never supposed to reach that grill.”
The line disconnected.
May you like
Batch Fourteen.
The first name attached to the thing everyone was trying not to describe.
