Grandfather, maybe we should consider their terms. David, Pritchett warned, this isn’t your concern. It is, the young man insisted.
It’s my future too. Pritchett Consulting bears our name, my name. Whatever comes out in this lawsuit, in the press.
It affects me too, he turned to Margaret, his expression earnest. I never knew about any of this. I was born after the mill closed.
But if what you’re saying is true, he glanced at his grandfather, then we owe you more than money. We owe you the truth. Dale Pritchett’s face hardened, but something in his grandson’s words seemed to reach him.
He stared at the polished surface of the conference table for a long moment, then raised his eyes to meet Margaret’s. What would you have me say, he asked. That I cut corners? That I diverted funds? Fine.
I did those things. Business was struggling. The textile industry was dying.
We were facing competition from overseas that we couldn’t match. And my father found out, Margaret prompted. Thomas was an idealist.
He didn’t understand the realities of business. He threatened to expose everything, to shut us down rather than operate with what he called blood money. Do you know how many jobs would have been lost? Hundreds.
So you had him killed, Frank stated. No, Pritchett’s denial was vehement. I never ordered anyone’s death.
I simply ensured that the machine he was inspecting that day wasn’t properly secured. I thought it would scare him, maybe injure him enough to make him reconsider. I never intended.
And the other five workers, Taylor asked, were they accidents too, or more scares that went wrong? Jesus, grandfather, David whispered, his face ashen. How could you? The older man’s shoulders slumped. It was a different time, he said.
Sacrifices had to be made for progress, for profit. Human sacrifices, Margaret said. My father, those other men, their families.
Finally, Eliza spoke. Mr. Pritchett, I believe we have the basis for an agreement here. A full public statement acknowledging your role in the safety violations that led to these deaths.
The establishment of a memorial foundation and compensation for the families. As previously discussed, Pritchett looked to his lawyer, who gave a resigned nod. The alternative is worse, Weintraub murmured.
A public trial, media coverage, potential criminal investigations reopened. Fine, Pritchett conceded. Draft the agreement.
I’ll sign it. As they prepared to leave, Taylor found herself face to face with Pritchett in the hallway outside the conference room. For a moment, they regarded each other, the powerful man brought low by truth and the homeless woman who had helped reveal it.
You could have sold that toolbox and its contents to the highest bidder, Pritchett observed quietly. A woman in your position. It would have been the logical choice.
Some things aren’t for sale, mister. Pritchett, she replied simply. Dignity, truth, justice…
