The Corner Office
The Family Discount

The Note

Naomi went to the eastern plant herself, badge visitor, hard hat, the whole routine tour a new CEO was expected to make. Officially, it was a courtesy visit. Unofficially, she wanted to see the bracket that had failed with her own eyes, and see who flinched when she asked about it.

The plant floor manager gave her the tour with a smile stapled on too tight. When she asked, casually, about "any recent safety incidents," his answer came half a beat too fast: "Nothing significant. Standard maintenance flags, that's all."

The workers were friendlier, and quieter, in the particular way of people who'd been told, at some point, not to make trouble. She asked a woman running a line inspection about the scaffolding repair near bay four. The woman's eyes flicked toward the floor manager's back before she answered, carefully, that she "wasn't really sure, wasn't on shift that day."

Naomi didn't push. She'd learned, in one afternoon, that pushing here got people silence, not answers.

She was walking back toward the visitor exit when someone brushed past her shoulder — a young worker in a grease-stained jacket, moving fast, not making eye contact. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.

By the time Naomi felt the folded paper pressed into her palm, he was already gone, swallowed back into the noise of the floor.

She waited until she was alone in the car, engine running, before she opened it.

Seven words, block letters, pressed hard enough to tear the paper slightly at one corner:

THEY'LL BURY YOU LIKE THEY BURIED THE REPORT. ASK ABOUT THE INSPECTION DATE.

Continue the story Part 6: The Inspection Date →