Chapter 7 - The Price of Truth
The board did not fire me that day.
They did something worse.
They put me on leave.
Publicly, it was described as a voluntary step while an independent investigation reviewed vendor relationships and historical safety incidents.
Privately, Evelyn told me three directors wanted me gone by lunch.
“You are not accused of taking money,” she said.
“I’m aware.”
“You are accused of failing to know what was happening under your own name.”
I looked at her.
“That accusation is true.”
She studied me.
Most CEOs spend their lives defending themselves.
The truth confused people.
“You understand what saying that publicly will do?”
“Yes.”
“Investors will hear negligence.”
“They should hear accountability.”
“They will hear lawsuits.”
“We deserve some.”
“Ethan.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you relied on established processes.”
“I did.”
“That senior executives circumvented controls.”
“They did.”
“That you were not personally aware.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then say that.”
I stood.
“And then what?”
“Then the company survives.”
I walked to the window.
Forty-two floors below, people moved through the plaza.
Some wore Mercer badges.
Some wore contractor uniforms.
Some carried coffee.
Some carried mops.
A year earlier, I would have seen a system.
Now I saw people.
“That is not enough,” I said.
Evelyn sighed.
“You are impossible.”
“I founded a robotics company at twenty-nine. You knew that.”
By evening, I was no longer allowed to enter headquarters without notifying legal.
That part almost made me laugh.
The building with my name on it required me to sign in.
I went home.
For the first time in fifteen years, I had nowhere I was required to be.
The penthouse felt enormous.
I opened the refrigerator.
There was almond milk, mustard, three bottles of water, and something in a glass container that might once have been salmon.
Six billion dollars.
No food.
I ordered pizza.
The delivery driver recognized me.
“Dude,” he said, “my wife says you’re in trouble.”
“Your wife is correct.”
He laughed.
Then looked serious.
“You gonna fix it?”
I looked at the pizza.
“I’m trying.”
He handed me the box.
“Good luck.”
At 9:17, someone knocked.
I expected Naomi.
It was Lily.
She stood in the hallway wearing a purple winter coat and holding a cardboard box.
Maya stood behind her.
My chest tightened.
“Hi.”
Maya looked uncomfortable.
“Hi.”
Lily pushed past me.
“Your house is too clean.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Maya gave her a look.
“Shoes.”
Lily kicked them off.
I looked at the box.
“What’s that?”
“My science city.”
I looked at Maya.
“She wanted to show you the upgraded battery.”
Lily corrected her.
“I wanted Ethan to fix the wiring because Mom broke it.”
“I did not break it.”
“You bent it.”
“I moved it.”
“Too hard.”
Maya sighed.
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
We sat at the kitchen island.
Lily spread cardboard buildings everywhere.
Maya stayed standing.
“You don’t have to be here,” I said.
“I know.”
“That came out wrong.”
“Most things you say do.”
“Good to know some part of my life is stable.”
She almost smiled.
Lily handed me a wire.
“This one doesn’t work.”
I examined it.
“The copper pulled out.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“Billionaire powers?”
“Soldering iron powers.”
Maya watched as I retrieved a small electronics kit from a cabinet.
“You keep that in your kitchen?”
“I live alone.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“I build things.”
For twenty minutes, Lily and I worked on the city.
Maya eventually sat down.
The television in the living room was on mute.
A financial channel showed my photograph beside the headline MERCER ON LEAVE.
Lily noticed.
“Did you lose your job too?”
I looked at her.
“Sort of.”
“Because of me?”
Maya went still.
I put down the soldering iron.
“No.”
“But Mom lost her job after dinner.”
“That was not because of you either.”
“Was it because of Ethan?”
Maya opened her mouth.
I answered first.
“Partly.”
She looked at me.
Lily frowned.
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
“Did you say sorry?”
“A lot.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
She thought for a second.
“Mom says sorry doesn’t fix things unless you change what you do.”
I looked at Maya.
“She says that?”
“Frequently.”
“She is terrifying.”
“Yes.”
Lily returned to the city.
I soldered the wire.
A tiny row of lights turned on.
She clapped.
Maya watched me quietly.
After Lily fell asleep on the couch, Maya and I stood by the windows.
The river below reflected city lights.
“I heard about the leave,” she said.
“Most people did.”
“Are you okay?”
I looked at her.
“That is the first time you’ve asked.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m unemployed.”
“So am I.”
“We have so much in common.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then she became serious.
“Did you mean what you said?”
“What?”
“That if the company can’t survive the truth, it shouldn’t.”
“Yes.”
“You built it.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t that scare you?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised her.
I continued.
“I keep thinking about Aaron’s voicemail.”
She looked away.
“I listened to it maybe a thousand times after he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Do you hate me?”
She did not answer immediately.
“No.”
That hurt more.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know where to put you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It would be easier if you had known.”
I stared at her.
“If you had known about Aaron and covered it up, I could hate you. Cleanly. Completely.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“You were somewhere else making speeches while people under you decided what your company stood for.”
I looked down.
“That is almost worse.”
“I know.”
She turned toward me.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I built a company I thought reflected me.”
My voice was quieter than I expected.
“And maybe it reflects what I ignored instead.”
Maya studied me.
“That sounded almost human.”
“I have moments.”
We stood in silence.
Then my phone rang.
Naomi.
I answered.
“Tell me something good.”
“I can’t.”
“What happened?”
“Victor is fighting the suspension.”
“Expected.”
“He also filed a whistleblower complaint.”
I laughed.
“You’re joking.”
“He claims you manipulated internal investigations to protect a personal relationship with Maya.”
Maya heard her name.
Her expression changed.
Naomi continued.
“He alleges you ordered employees to fabricate evidence against him.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes. But it gives him legal protection and media oxygen.”
“Anything else?”
“Someone leaked the Aaron Collins file.”
I froze.
“To who?”
“Chicago Ledger.”
Maya heard that.
Her face went pale.
“What file?” she asked.
I held up a hand.
Naomi continued.
“The settlement amount. medical examiner records. internal emails. They’re preparing a story.”
“Stop it.”
“We can’t.”
“Delay it.”
“Legal tried.”
“Who leaked?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked at Maya.
“What’s in the file?”
Naomi hesitated.
“What?”
“There’s a photograph.”
Maya’s voice sharpened.
“What photograph?”
I put the phone on speaker.
Naomi said, “Maya, I’m sorry. It’s a scene photograph from the electrical room.”
Maya sat down.
“No.”
I felt sick.
“Do they have it?”
“Yes.”
“Will they publish?”
“They say they’ll blur the body.”
Maya stood so fast the chair moved.
“No. No, no, no.”
“I’ll call the publisher,” I said.
“Do not let them show him.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can try.”
“Try harder.”
She grabbed her coat.
I caught her arm gently.
“Where are you going?”
“To get Lily.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m not staying here while my husband’s death becomes content.”
“Maya.”
She pulled away.
My phone buzzed with an incoming email.
Naomi saw it at the same time.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
She whispered, “They published.”
Maya’s phone chimed.
Then mine.
Then another.
The article was live.
I opened it.
The headline was bad.
The photograph was worse.
The body was blurred.
But the room was visible.
Burned panel.
Broken equipment.
A dark stain on the floor.
Maya made a sound I will never forget.
She turned away.
I closed the article.
“I’m sorry.”
She covered her face.
“I told Lily he died helping fix the building.”
“He did.”
“I never told her how.”
“You don’t have to.”
“She’s going to see this.”
“We’ll keep it away from her.”
“You can’t keep the internet away from a seven-year-old forever.”
Her shoulders shook.
I wanted to touch her.
I did not.
Then Lily’s sleepy voice came from the living room.
“Mom?”
Maya wiped her face instantly.
“Hey.”
Lily walked in rubbing her eyes.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, baby.”
She looked at me.
Then at Maya.
Children know when adults lie.
She walked to her mother and hugged her.
Maya closed her eyes.
I looked down at my phone.
A message from an unknown number.
Beautiful family.
My blood went cold.
A second message arrived.
Would be a shame if the little girl saw the real pictures.
I showed Maya.
She stopped breathing.
I called Paul.
Then the unknown number sent one more message.
Tell Mercer to resign by noon.
May you like
Or the unblurred photos go everywhere.
And noon was already coming.
