Chapter 2 - I Refused to Save Derek
Dad tried a different argument.
“Derek has two kids.”
“So do plenty of people who get fired.”
“He has a mortgage.”
“So do plenty of people who behave at work.”
“You don’t even know what happened.”
“Exactly.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“I don’t know what happened, which means I’m not going to call anyone and pretend I do.”
His face reddened.
“I’m asking you to put in a word.”
“What word?”
“That he’s a good man.”
I almost laughed.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Derek had stood beside a barbecue pit while my son cried.
“I can’t truthfully say that today.”
Dad looked like I had slapped him.
“You’d destroy your brother over stuffed animals?”
“No.”
“I’m refusing to lie for him.”
“Same difference.”
“No, Dad. That difference is the entire problem.”
He left angry.
Lucas stayed inside until the truck disappeared.
Then he opened the door.
“Was Grandpa mad?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Completely.”
I realized I would probably need to say versions of that sentence many times.
The next morning, Peterson Tech answered the larger question for me.
At 8:37, an email arrived from Melissa Grant, director of employee relations.
Request for confidential interview.
I called immediately.
Before she told me anything substantive, I disclosed:
“Derek Dawson is my brother.”
Melissa paused.
“You didn’t know he worked here?”
“Not until last night.”
“That’s useful to document.”
“Why is my name involved?”
“We’ll discuss that in the interview.”
I requested another HR representative attend because of the family relationship.
Melissa agreed.
At eleven, I joined a conference room with Melissa and corporate counsel.
The first thing she said was:
“You are not being investigated.”
“Good start.”
“We need factual information. Nothing more.”
She showed me an email Derek had sent his manager two months earlier.
Virgil Dawson in Platform Engineering can confirm we’ve handled enterprise exceptions this way before.
I stared.
“I never told him that.”
“Have you ever discussed sales exceptions with him?”
“No.”
“Pricing?”
“No.”
“Renewal approvals?”
“No.”
“Customer credits?”
“No.”
Melissa made notes.
Then she showed me an internal document.
A technical exception framework I had written the previous year.
Derek had forwarded portions of it to his sales team as supposed justification for bypassing a separate commercial approval process.
I rubbed my forehead.
“That document has nothing to do with sales authorization.”
“We know.”
“Then why use my name?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
I couldn’t.
Then Melissa asked:
“Did Derek contact you this weekend about the investigation?”
“No.”
“Did anyone in your family?”
I thought of Dad on my porch.
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“My father.”
“What did he ask?”
“To help save Derek’s job.”
“Did he give you details?”
“No.”
Melissa exchanged a glance with counsel.
I noticed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re still investigating.”
“Then don’t tell me.”
That answer seemed to surprise her.
“I don’t want confidential allegations just because we share DNA.”
Melissa nodded.
“Fair.”
Before I left, she asked one final question.
“How would you describe your professional relationship with Derek?”
“I don’t have one.”
She wrote that down.
May you like
That sentence would matter later.
Because Derek had been telling people something very different.
