I honestly believed that Jack’s death would be the hardest thing I’d ever challenge. But then, eleven days after his funeral, I came across a cell phone inside a box in the garage, and at once, grief didn’t feel like the scariest thing in my home.
Jack passed away just two weeks ago. It’s crazy how it feels like it hasn’t been more than a day. Every now and then, I’m sure he’s just going to drive up and step right inside. Instead, everything is just stuck. His jacket is still draped over the dining room chair. His coffee cup is next to the sink, because I couldn’t bring myself to wash it. The kids keep asking questions I don’t have answers to.
I’ve been forcing myself to get through each day so as not to totally break down. I prepare breakfast, do the homework with the kids, do the laundry, and sign papers for school. Immediately after that, when no one’s watching, I cry into the bathroom or the laundry room.
Jack’s sister, Karen, stayed glued to my side through it all. Back then, I appreciated her company. She brought food, took care of the children, held my hand so strongly it hurt, and looked as devastated as me. However, there was something strange she kept repeating again and again, telling me I should not touch anything related to Jack’s work right away. She said the factory needed time to sort through their paperwork first and I shouldn’t stress myself out. It sounded reasonable at the time. Now it makes me sick.
Two days after the funeral, this Nolan guy arrived with a basket full of fruits and a folder. He claimed he was an HR rep but his business card read “Director of Employee Relations and Risk Management.”
We sat at the kitchen table, and he told me the paperwork was just standard stuff for compensation and benefits for the kids since Jack died in a “workplace accident.” But when I started reading it, I realized it was a massive settlement release. If I signed it, I was legally agreeing that Jack’s death was just a tragic accident, giving up my right to sue, and promising never to talk about anything related to his work.
Nolan tossed a pen my way and Karen quietly suggested that it would be better for me to sign it so we can get our hands on some money. Everything seemed totally wrong to me. I said that I needed some time and Nolan, who gave me one of those fake, respectful smiles and talked to me about corporate deadlines, walked out with Karen.
The moment the pair was out of the door, I went directly to the garage. I didn’t want to clean it up because I couldn’t even think of staying in there but I knew with all my heart that Jack must have left something behind. And sure enough, hidden behind a false bottom of his tool box connected to another battery pack was an extra phone. This was just so like Jack. Quiet, reserved, and not believing a word that came out of the mouths of his superiors.
Pexels
There was just a single video on it and it was taken the night Jack died. The camera appeared hidden high on a shelf in the garage. Jack stood beside his workbench with a large envelope when Karen suddenly walked into view. What shocked me most was her expression — she did not look heartbroken. She looked terrified.
Karen demanded the flash drive, but Jack refused, telling her it did not belong to her. Panicking, she argued that her name was tied to the documents too. Jack’s voice turned cold as he accused her of signing false safety reports for dangerous factory machinery. He said she was clearing machines that hadn’t even been inspected, and that parts listed as replaced were never even ordered. He told her production line seven was completely unsafe, but management refused to shut it down because they were losing too much money.
