Chapter 4 - Forty-Two Thousand Five Hundred
At the hospital, the emergency physician ordered imaging and contacted the on-call orthopedic specialist.
The MRI and other scans confirmed extensive damage.
My reconstructed ACL graft had torn.
My meniscus was badly damaged.
And the impact had caused a fracture near the knee joint.
The surgeon pulled a stool beside my bed.
“Merritt, I'm going to be direct. This is a serious setback.”
I asked him how long it would take to recover.
He studied the images.
“Given the combination of injuries, you're looking at another surgery, an extended period without weight-bearing, and several months of rehabilitation.”
“How many months?”
“Plan for at least six before you're functioning anywhere near your previous level. We'll reassess as you heal.”
I stared at him.
Six months.
I had a major commercial port inspection assignment scheduled to begin in two weeks.
My anticipated commission was $65,000.
The project involved boarding cargo vessels, climbing ladders, and walking industrial loading areas.
There was no version of that work I could perform from a wheelchair.
I called my operations manager.
He expressed genuine concern, asked me to focus on treatment, and said the company would arrange another lead inspector.
The contract would proceed.
My commission wouldn't.
After the call, I sat staring at the hospital blanket.
Then another message arrived.
From Mom.
Your sister is crying because you ruined the rehearsal dinner. She's worried about having puffy eyes in her wedding photos tomorrow. You need to arrive by 9 a.m. and apologize, or don't come at all.
I reread it.
There was no question about my injuries.
No mention of the hospital.
Just another assignment.
Protect Sloan.
Make Sloan happy.
Fix whatever Sloan had broken.
This time, however, I didn't reply.
I took a screenshot and added it to the folder containing the video.
Then I made a decision.
For thirty-four years, I'd spent my time keeping the peace.
Now I was going to stop protecting people who had never protected me.
At six the next morning, I called Greer.
She had been my first supervisor in the marine claims industry and was still the person I trusted most with difficult situations.
Greer had the personality of a federal auditor and the patience of a parking enforcement officer.
She answered on the third ring.
“Merritt? It's six in the morning.”
“I'm in the hospital.”
That woke her up.
I told her what had happened.
I told her about the video.
Then I told her about the surgery, the lost contract, and my mother's text.
Greer listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“What do you need?”
“A wheelchair I can actually travel in, transportation back to the venue, and somebody who won't let my family bully me into leaving.”
“You've got me.”
“I also need legal help.”
“I'll call the attorney who handles our corporate disputes.”
Then she added, “And Merritt?”
“Yes?”
“Don't delete a damn thing.”
After we hung up, I opened my banking app.
During the previous night's chaos, my parents had offered to take charge of my bag and help with hospital expenses. My corporate emergency credit card had been inside it.
I'd already recovered the bag before leaving, but the offer had bothered me.
I wanted to make sure they hadn't touched anything.
I logged in.
One pending transaction caught my attention.
$42,500.00 — Estate Catering & Events.
I sat completely still.
Then I checked the merchant information.
May you like
It was the wedding venue.
Someone had charged the final catering and event balance to my corporate emergency card.
