Chương 8
“Yes.”
“So forgive me if I’m keeping score.”
“That is exactly what scares me.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You’re turning it into a competition.”
“I’m trying to protect Noah.”
“Then protect Noah.”
“I am.”
“No. Right now you’re trying to beat Ryan.”
The sentence stayed with him after she hung up.
On Monday morning, Ethan went to work.
He supervised field maintenance for a regional utility contractor, which meant his days were mostly pickup trucks, safety meetings, spreadsheets, crews calling because equipment had failed somewhere inconvenient.
At seven-twenty, his supervisor, Janice Bell, asked him to step into her office.
She was fifty-three and disliked closed-door conversations because, as she often said, they made everyone feel guilty before anyone spoke.
She closed the door anyway.
Ethan sat.
Janice placed her phone face-down on the desk.
“You have a situation?”
He almost laughed.
“What kind?”
“The kind where somebody emailed me a video of you holding a metal rod over a man on the ground.”
His stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“Anonymous address.”
“Can I see it?”
She turned the phone.
It was Megan’s video.
But cropped.
The first six seconds were gone.
It began with Ethan already walking toward Ryan.
The audio was intact from that point.
Ryan’s “It was a joke” remained, but without the earlier context it was unclear what the joke had been.
Then the shove.
The poker.
The final line.
Janice let it finish.
“Tell me.”
He did.
She listened.
When he finished, she asked, “Police involved?”
“Yes.”
“Charged?”
“No.”
“Investigation open?”
“I think the report is under review.”
“You think?”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
Janice leaned back.
“Anyone injured?”
“Ryan says his wrist is.”
“Your son?”
“No physical injury.”
She nodded.
“I’m going to say something you won’t like.”
“Go ahead.”
“I believe you.”
Ethan waited.
“But?”
“But that video looks terrible.”
He stared at the carpet.
Janice continued.
“You’re a supervisor. Half your job is telling people not to solve problems with their hands.”
“I know.”
“You’ve suspended two employees for fighting.”
“One punched another guy in the mouth.”
“I am aware.”
“He didn’t reach for a weapon.”
“I’m not saying it’s identical.”
“Sounds like you are.”
Janice gave him a tired look.
“Don’t make me your enemy because I have an HR problem.”
He stopped.
That was fair.
He hated that it was fair.
“What happens?”
“I sent the email to HR. I told them I wanted to speak to you before they did anything. For now, nothing. But if this becomes a criminal charge or starts circulating publicly, they may put you on administrative leave while they review it.”
“Paid?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed once.
“Great.”
“Ethan.”
“I know. You don’t know.”
She watched him carefully.
“You want to go home?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then go run your safety meeting.”
The irony was so complete he almost respected it.
At eight o’clock, Ethan stood in front of fourteen employees and reminded them that hydraulic pressure had injured more people in their division than any other single hazard over the previous five years.
Nobody knew why his hands were shaking.
At lunch, Brad called.
“You seen Facebook?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Don’t.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because Ryan posted.”
“What?”
“Not the video. A statement.”
“What does it say?”
Brad hesitated.
“Basically that he was attacked at a family gathering and there’s a false story being spread that he threatened a child.”
“Did he name me?”
“No.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Because everybody knows.”
“Everybody who?”
“Family. Friends.”
“That’s not everybody.”
“You know what I mean.”
Ethan leaned against his truck.
“What are people saying?”
“Mixed.”
“Brad.”
“Some think he’s full of it. Some saw Megan’s clip.”
“How?”
Another pause.
Ethan straightened.
“Brad.”
“I sent it to Tyler.”
“You what?”
“I didn’t post it.”
“You sent it.”
“I thought he should see the whole thing because Ryan was talking crap.”
“Tyler is Ryan’s best friend.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew that ten years ago.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget who somebody’s best friend is?”
“I don’t keep a database of Ryan’s life.”
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Did Tyler send it to him?”
“Probably.”
“Did he edit it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, the version my boss got was edited.”
Brad went quiet.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I was trying to help.”
“That phrase should be illegal.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
Ethan looked across the equipment yard.
A crew member was eating yogurt on the tailgate of a truck.
Everything looked offensively normal.
“Don’t send anything else.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t comment online.”
“I haven’t.”
“Don’t defend me.”
Brad sounded hurt.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I said okay.”
Ethan ended the call and sat in his truck for several minutes.
He did not open Facebook.
He did not message Ryan.
He considered this a victory.
At three-thirty, the lawyer he had called returned his message.
Her name was Leah Benton.
She asked him to send the original video, the cropped version if he had it, screenshots of Ryan’s messages, and any contact information for witnesses.
Then she said, “Do not contact Mr. Mercer.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“Can he contact me?”
“He can try. You don’t have to respond.”
“What about my mother?”
“What about her?”
“He went to her house and asked her to change her statement.”
Leah paused.
“Did he threaten her?”
“No.”
“Did she document the interaction?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have her write down exactly what happened while it’s fresh. No embellishment. No guessing. Just what she remembers.”
“Okay.”
“Did you tell her what to say to police?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Leah was silent.
Ethan immediately regretted the tone.
“Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“It is a problem.”
“What?”
“I keep getting angry at people who are trying to help.”
“That is not primarily a legal issue.”
He almost laughed.
“Fair.”
She continued.
“One other thing. Your son.”
Ethan straightened.
“What about him?”
“Don’t rehearse him.”
May you like
“I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not accusing you. Parents do it accidentally. They ask the same questions, they correct details, they say, ‘Remember when he did this?’ Don’t. If someone formally interviews him, you want his memory to be his.”
