Chapter 3 - The Cancelled Policy
By 1:00 AM, the rain outside Bell County Regional Hospital had turned into a freezing drizzle, coating the glass windows in a thin, jagged skin of ice.
Warren stood in a secluded corner of the hospital lobby, near a row of dead vending machines. Across the room, Dela Pike was curled up on a vinyl couch, her head resting on her mother’s old denim jacket, fast asleep. The small canvas bag of coins lay tucked safely inside her backpack.
Warren held his smartphone against his ear. The call went straight to voicemail.
“Marcus,” Warren said into the phone, his voice steady and cold as steel. “I don't care if you're in bed. I don't care if you're out of the state. You pick up this phone right now, or I swear to God I will have corporate security remove everything from your office before sunrise.”
He hung up without waiting for a tone.
Marcus Brody was the Senior Vice President of Human Resources and Risk Management for Whitaker Foods. He had been hired three years ago by the Board of Directors to 'streamline operating costs' and reduce corporate liability. He was a sleek, thirty-four-year-old corporate accountant with an Ivy League degree and a reputation for treating human beings like rounding errors on a spreadsheet.
Richard Vance stepped out from around the corner, holding two paper cups of lukewarm coffee. He handed one to Warren, who ignored it.
“Warren, listen to me,” Vance said in a low, urgent voice. “I just spoke with the regional manager in Corbin. Sarah Pike was involved in a union organizing effort last month.”
Warren turned his head slowly. “A union effort?”
“Yes,” Vance whispered, looking around to make sure no reporters were nearby. “She was one of the lead organizers trying to get the warehouse workers to vote on a collective bargaining agreement regarding overtime safety and mandatory rest periods between shifts. Marcus Brody’s department has been monitoring her for six weeks.”
A sickening wave of realization washed over Warren.
“Monitoring her?” Warren’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried enough heat to make Vance step back an inch. “Are you telling me that my VP of Risk Management intentionally purged her employment status to invalidate her health insurance before she could file a workplace injury or union grievance?”
“No! Absolutely not!” Vance said quickly, waving his hands. “Nobody knew she was going to get hit by one of our trucks! That part was a tragic accident, Warren! But if Marcus’s department flagged her for termination due to union activity and backdated the paperwork to avoid paying out severance or health coverage... doing that right before an accident makes us look like monsters in a court of law!”
“Makes us look like monsters?” Warren snapped, grabbing Vance by the lapels of his tailored coat and slamming him back against the brick wall. “We are monsters if we let this stand! A mother is dying upstairs because someone in my building used an administrative button to execute a personal vendetta!”
“Mr. Whitaker!”
A quiet, small voice spoke from the shadows behind them.
Warren let go of Vance immediately, smoothing down his coat as he turned around.
Dela was standing there, rubbing her eyes with her small fists. She was wearing her oversized shoes, her little canvas backpack dangling from her shoulder.
“Is my mommy awake yet?” she asked softly.
Warren dropped down on one knee in front of her, ignoring the pain in his old joint. He reached out and gently smoothed down the yarn ribbon on her backpack.
“Not yet, Dela,” Warren said, his voice softening into a warmth he hadn't used in twenty years. “The doctors are working on her. But I need you to know something.”
Dela looked into his eyes with that sharp, uncluttered clarity that only children possess. “What?”
“Your four dollars and pennies,” Warren said, looking her straight in the eye. “They worked. The heart is paid for.”
Dela’s big brown eyes filled with sudden light. “Really?”
“Really,” Warren said. “I’m taking care of the rest of the bill.”
Beside them, Vance looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Warren! You can't make verbal guarantees regarding medical liabilities without board approval! If the insurance company refuses the claim—”
May you like
Warren stood up and looked at Vance with a cold, terrifying smile.
“Then I’ll pay for the heart out of my personal account, Richard,” Warren said. “And then I’m going back to headquarters to tear Marcus Brody’s life apart.”
