Chapter 5 - Edward Caswell Came to Our Apartment
Three days later, someone knocked on our door.
Mom checked the peephole.
Then froze.
Edward Caswell stood in the hallway.
No security.
No reporters.
No suit.
Jeans and a blue shirt.
Mom opened the door only halfway.
“What do you want?”
“To thank your daughter.”
“You already did.”
“To thank you.”
“For what?”
“For raising someone who did what none of my employees did.”
Mom’s expression hardened.
“My daughter should not have been downtown alone.”
“I know.”
“So don’t turn this into some inspirational story about a poor brave child.”
Edward looked surprised.
Good.
Mom continued.
“She was there because I couldn’t afford medicine.”
I had never heard her say that without shame.
Edward lowered his eyes.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
He accepted that.
Then he noticed the old Mercer letter on our table.
“May I?”
Mom covered it with her hand.
“No.”
Edward looked at her.
“You worked for Caswell.”
“Your father’s version of it.”
“Why were you fired?”
“Ask your company.”
“I am.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“That’s eight years late.”
Edward stayed quiet.
Then asked:
“Did Wade hurt you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I reported phantom vendors.”
Edward’s face changed.
“What vendors?”
Mom named one.
Piedmont Fleet Safety.
Edward sat down without being invited.
I remember that because Mom almost told him to stand again.
He said:
“That vendor still exists.”
Mom stared.
“It can’t.”
“It does.”
“I proved there was no legitimate office.”
“It currently receives almost seven hundred thousand dollars a year from us.”
Silence.
Edward looked at the old file.
Then at my mother.
“Whatever you found eight years ago never stopped.”
Mom answered:
May you like
“Then you have a bigger problem than one bad guard.”
She was right.
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