Chapter 2 - The Wheels of RetributionGreg Jenkins arrived at the hospital forty-two minutes later, sweating through his custom-tailored Italian suit despite the air conditioning.
He had expected a reprimand. He had expected Camille to express mild displeasure that he had filled the regional operations slot with his wife’s nephew, Todd. What he did not expect was to find Darien Phillips sitting quietly in the corner armchair of the VIP suite, nor did he expect the look of absolute, freezing contempt on Camille Niven’s face as she sat up in her bed.
“Camille,” Greg stammered, offering a oily, nervous smile. “Thank God you’re recovering. The board has been frantic—I’ve been holding the entire logistics division together single-handedly—”
“Shut up, Greg,” Camille said softly.
The words were barely a whisper, but they hit the room like physical blows. Greg froze mid-stride, his mouth hanging half-open.
“Do you know what it feels like to suffocate?” Camille asked, her gray eyes locked onto his sweating forehead. “To feel your heart stutter and fail while trapped in crushed steel?”
“I... I heard about the accident, of course—horrible tragedy, miraculous recovery—”
“It wasn't a miracle, Greg. It was Darien Phillips,” Camille interrupted, pointing a slender finger directly at Darien. “He pulled me out. He carried me up three flights of stairs. And while he was covered in my blood, saving my life, you fired him.”
Greg’s eyes darted nervously toward Darien, a flash of ugly panic crossing his features before he forced a placating expression. “Camille, let’s be entirely rational. Protocol is protocol. The promotion panel was a strict timeline. Mr. Phillips abandoned his post during a critical corporate restructuring window. As head of operations, I had to make a hard executive call for the good of Niven Logistics.”
“A hard call,” Camille repeated, her lips curling into a humorless smile. “Interesting phrasing. Because when my administrative assistant pulled the audit logs this morning, we found a very different kind of hard call.”
She picked up a printed tablet from her lap and tossed it onto the bedspread. Pages slid across the crisp white sheets.
Greg swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn't dare look at the papers.
“Three weeks ago, you quietly diverted forty thousand dollars from the logistics contingency fund into a shell account registered under your nephew’s name,” Camille recited smoothly, her voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. “You needed a vacancy in the regional office to install Todd, which meant Darien had to be blocked from the promotion panel. And when an unexpected car crash handed you a convenient excuse to fire him for ‘abandonment,’ you took it without a second thought.”
“That’s... that’s an internal accounting error!” Greg gasped, his face turning the color of curdled milk. “An administrative oversight! I can explain—!”
“You can explain it to the corporate fraud division,” Camille said, pressing a button on her bedside console. “Security is waiting outside your office right now, Greg. Your badge is deactivated. Your corporate car is being repossessed. And if you attempt to contest your termination or contact a single client on your way out, I will personally ensure you spend the next five years wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
Greg opened his mouth to protest, but the heavy oak door swung open. Two burly security guards in dark suits stepped into the room, flanking the disgraced executive with stone-cold precision.
Without another word, Greg Jenkins was marched out of the room, his career dismantled in less than three minutes.
When the door clicked shut, the hospital suite fell quiet again.
Camille turned her gaze back to Darien, who was still standing near the corner, stunned into silence.
“Your termination has been expunged from your record,” Camille said, her voice softening just a fraction. “Effective immediately, you are reinstated as regional operations manager. And the promotion panel? It’s yours. Uncontested.”
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Darien felt a knot in his chest loosen, tears stinging the backs of his eyes—emotions he had suppressed for days finally threatening to break free. “Thank you, Ms. Niven. I... I don't know what to say.”
“Don't thank me yet,” Camille replied, leaning back against her pillows with a faint grimace of pain. “Getting your job back solves your corporate problem, Darien. But it doesn't solve Sophie’s.”
