Chapter 5 - The Secret Artifact|
The cough echoed softly against the high ceilings of the office, followed by a low, uneasy whine.
Hannah immediately scooped Ellie into her arms, pressing the baby close to her shoulder. "Shh, it's okay, sweetie. Mommy's got you. We're going home right now."
Ethan watched from the shadow of the conference room as Hannah hastily threw her cleaning supplies onto the cart, strapped Ellie back into the stroller, and hurried out into the hallway. The squeaky left wheel chirped loudly with every step until the elevator doors clicked shut, swallowing the sound.
When the executive floor was completely silent again, Ethan stood up.
His knees felt stiff as he walked across the carpet, pushed open the double doors of his office, and stepped inside. The room smelled of lavender disinfectant and faint baby powder.
He walked past his mahogany desk and stood over the broken wooden box.
His fingers trembled as he reached out to touch the dark polished rosewood. It was a hand-carved Swiss music box. Four years ago, on a freezing December afternoon in a hospital room three miles away, his four-year-old daughter, Lily, had held this exact box against her ear while the cancer stole the last of her breath.
After the funeral, Ethan had locked it in his desk. Later, unable to look at it without feeling his soul tear apart, he had shoved it onto the lowest shelf behind forgotten tax documents, hiding it away where the light couldn't find it.
He picked up the broken piece of brass. The mechanism was delicate, ancient, and jammed.
Then he picked up Hannah's note. He read her messy handwriting once, twice, three times.
I am entirely responsible.
Ethan leaned against the edge of his desk, staring at the phone number written at the bottom of the yellow paper. For four years, his world had been filled with corporate executives, board members, and lawyers who lied to protect their bottom line. Everyone shifted blame. Everyone covered their tracks.
Yet a woman making fourteen dollars an hour, who had brought her sick child to work on Christmas Eve out of pure desperation, had chosen to sacrifice herself rather than hide a broken toy.
Ethan reached for his phone, tapped his screen, and dialed his head of Human Resources at home.
May you like
"Ethan?" the HR director answered, clearly startled to see the CEO's caller ID on Christmas Eve. "Is everything alright at the office?"
"I need the complete employment file for a night cleaner named Hannah Mercer," Ethan said, his voice quiet, steady, and devoid of its usual cold detachment. "Send it to my personal email immediately."
