She’s been through enough. My neighbor misses. Delaney is a retired elementary school teacher, Margaret suggested.
She watches children occasionally. I could ask if she’d stay with Iris this afternoon. The arrangement was made.
Mrs. Delaney, a kind woman in her 70s, agreed to watch Iris during the meeting. Iris, delighted by the older woman’s collection of children’s books and promise of freshly baked cookies, didn’t mind being left behind. The meeting with Jake Miller took place at a quiet cafe near the Tribune offices.
The journalist was younger than Taylor had expected. Early 30s, with alert eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He listened intently as Eliza and Margaret presented the evidence and explained the situation.
Let me get this straight, he said when they’d finished. Adelaide Brennan, before her death, left evidence that her brother Thomas was murdered in 1983 by Dale Pritchett, who then covered up safety violations that led to five more deaths. This evidence was hidden in a storage unit, which was purchased at auction by, he looked at Taylor, by you miss Hartley.
And now, 40 years later, you’re seeking justice for these deaths. That’s the essence of it, Eliza confirmed. It’s a compelling story, but Pritchett is powerful.
He has friends at the paper, people who golf with the publisher. If I run this, I need it to be airtight. We have the inspection reports, Frank pointed, the financial records, the photographs, and the tape, though it’s not as definitive as we’d hoped.
I’d need to verify all of it, Jake insisted. And I’d like to speak with the families of the other workers who died. We’re contacting them now, Eliza assured him.
Three have already agreed to be part of the civil suit. What about Pritchett himself? Jake asked. Will you approach him before publication? Eliza exchanged glances with Margaret.
We’re considering it, offering him a chance to respond, to tell his side before the story breaks. That’s both ethically sound and legally protective. If he declines to comment or denies everything, it strengthens the story.
By the end of the meeting, Jake had agreed to pursue the story, but with caution. He would need a week to verify the evidence, speak with the other families, and prepare a comprehensive piece. If everything checks out, he promised, this will be the front page.
Pritchett won’t be able to bury it. Back at Margaret’s house, they found Iris and Mrs. Delaney baking a second batch of cookies. The kitchen was warm with the scent of cinnamon, and Iris’ face was flushed with happiness.
Mama, we made snickerdoodles, she announced proudly. Mrs. Delaney says, I’m a natural baker. The elderly neighbor beamed.
She has a good touch with the dough. Don’t overwork it. She gathered her things to leave.
Anytime you need me to watch her again, just let me know. We had a lovely afternoon. That evening, as they sat in Margaret’s living room discussing next steps, Eliza called with unexpected news.
Dale Pritchett had learned of their legal filing. His lawyer contacted me, Eliza reported. They’re requesting a meeting tomorrow, just legal representatives, they say, to explore the matter privately before any unnecessary public attention.
He’s trying to buy us off, Frank growled. Almost certainly, Eliza agreed. But I think we should take the meeting.
It gives us a chance to gauge how seriously they’re taking the evidence and what they might be willing to concede. The next day brought a snowstorm, blanketing the city in white. Eliza went alone to meet Pritchett’s legal team, leaving the others to wait anxiously at Margaret’s house.
She returned by mid-afternoon, brushing snow from her coat as she entered. Her expression was grim but determined. They offered a settlement, she announced.
$5 million divided among all the families, contingent on complete confidentiality and destruction of all evidence. 5 million? Margaret repeated incredulously. For six lives? For 40 years of cover-up? They’re scared, Eliza observed.
The lawyer, Harvard-educated, custom suit, the works, was trying to appear casual, but he was nervous. They know how damaging this could be. Did you tell them we’re going to the press regardless? Frank asked.
I explained that my clients are seeking justice, not enrichment, and that the evidence has already been secured in multiple locations. What did they say to that? Taylor asked. They suggested that an elderly man’s twilight years could be better spent in peace than courtrooms.
And then they increased the offer to $8 million. Margaret shook her head firmly. Not acceptable.
My father’s memory isn’t for sale. Neither is the truth about what happened to those other workers. That’s essentially what I told them, Eliza confirmed.
I did, however, suggest an alternative. Pritchett makes a full public admission, endows a memorial foundation for workplace safety in Thomas Brennan’s name, and the families receive fair compensation determined by an independent mediator. And, Frank prompted, they said they would convey the terms to their client, but the lawyer’s face suggested that Pritchett won’t agree.
The standoff continued for several days. Jake Miller’s investigation proceeded with Frank connecting him to the other families who had lost loved ones at the mill. Eliza prepared for both legal scenarios, a settlement on their terms, or a protracted court battle.
Meanwhile, Taylor began looking for work. She couldn’t continue to depend on Margaret’s generosity indefinitely, with Margaret’s address as a reference and a carefully crafted explanation of her employment gap. She applied for night custodial positions at several facilities.
One evening, a week after they’d first met with Jake Miller, the reporter called with news. The story is ready, he informed them. My editor has approved it for Sunday’s front page, but there’s a development you should know about.
They gathered around Margaret’s phone on speaker to hear his update. I approached. Pritchett directly yesterday, Jake explained.
Professional courtesy, a chance to comment before publication. He refused to speak with me, but his lawyer called this morning. They’re requesting a face-to-face meeting with all parties.
All parties meaning? Eliza asked. You, Ms. Chen, Margaret Brennan Hoskins, Frank Osei, and specifically Taylor Hartley. Why me? I’m just the person who found the evidence…
