The Memo Roman Could Not Explain Away
Chapter 05 - The Memo Roman Could Not Explain Away
Roman’s lawyer advised him not to speak to Naen directly.
For once, Roman listened.
The leaked memo was real.
CLOSE MATTER QUICKLY. NO PRESS.
Four words.
Then two.
Enough to make any explanation sound like strategy.
The full email chain surfaced the next morning.
Enzo had written first.
Contract worker. Agency carries comp exposure. Repair already scheduled. No reason to damage refinancing over one accident.
Roman answered:
Close matter quickly. No press.
Not forged.
Not taken from another case.
His.
Helen Moore, the outside lawyer now handling North River, asked him:
“What did you mean?”
Roman looked at the screen.
“What it says.”
“Be precise.”
“I wanted the accident handled without publicity.”
“Why?”
“Because we were refinancing three warehouses.”
“Did you know safety had been flagged?”
“Not specifically.”
“Did you know a man had died?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask how?”
“No.”
There.
Helen stopped typing for one second.
“Did you ask whether the contractor classification was legitimate?”
“No.”
“Did you ask whether his family had been compensated?”
“No.”
Roman looked away.
“I read the summary.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
Good.
No legal polishing.
Helen continued.
“Then we do not frame this as a misunderstanding.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“It was a choice.”
“Yes.”
That was the sentence.
He had not ordered a dangerous platform left open because he wanted a worker hurt.
He had not known Eli Walker.
He had not planned a cover-up before the collapse.
But afterward, when a man was dead and a refinancing mattered, Roman had chosen not to look closely.
Negligence before.
Willful blindness after.
Both.
Naen’s lawyer, Rachel Ames, filed a wrongful-death petition and misclassification claim against North River, Caruso Logistics, the staffing agency, and individual entities involved.
Not Roman personally yet.
Evidence would decide.
Naen did not ask how much the case might be worth.
Rachel brought it up anyway.
“Potentially significant.”
Naen looked at Leo’s crayon drawing taped above her kitchen table.
“What does significant mean?”
“Enough to matter.”
“That is lawyer language.”
“Yes.”
“Will it take years?”
“Possibly.”
Naen nodded.
“Then I still need shifts.”
Correct.
At Laura, David Kesler had been formally terminated.
Not for firing Naen.
For wage theft, falsifying invoices, violating cash controls, and disabling cameras.
He faced civil wage claims and potential obstruction charges.
The staff held no farewell party.
Claire became interim manager.
She restored the tip system.
Posted every deduction publicly.
Made people sign nothing they did not understand.
Small revolutions.
Naen stayed.
Not because she trusted Roman.
Because Laura paid well and David was gone.
Roman did not enter for eleven days.
When he finally did, he sat at the bar before opening.
No cane.
The bandage was gone.
His gait remained slightly stiff.
Naen was polishing glasses.
He waited until she looked at him.
“I’m not here to explain the memo.”
“Good.”
“I am here to tell you something before you read it online.”
She set down the glass.
“The internal audit found seven more maintenance deferrals with my approval.”
“I know.”
His face changed.
“You know?”
“My lawyer.”
Right.
Good.
“Two caused injuries.”
“Yes.”
“One involved a boiler burn.”
“Yes.”
Roman nodded.
“No deaths except Eli.”
Naen stared.
“That sentence is not comforting.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then:
“I am turning every file over.”
“To who?”
“State labor investigators and federal prosecutors where relevant.”
“Why?”
He almost answered because it is right.
Stopped.
“Because if I control disclosure, it becomes another version of the same problem.”
Better.
Naen looked at him.
“Are you asking me to think better of you?”
“No.”
Good.
Then:
“I also found who called David the night you were fired.”
“Enzo.”
“No.”
She frowned.
David had said Enzo’s people.
The call used Enzo’s internal authorization code.
But the voice belonged to Sebastian Voss.
Roman’s chief financial officer.
Fifty-two.
Quiet.
Elegant.
With Caruso companies since Roman was twenty.
Naen remembered him vaguely.
Gray suits.
Never tipped badly.
Never tipped well.
“Why would your CFO care about a waitress?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then?”
“He cared about what you saw.”
Roman had been carrying one folder when he was attacked.
The folder disappeared.
Vendor reconciliation.
Eighteen million dollars in suspicious maintenance, liquor, linen, and logistics payments spread across companies Roman believed were clean.
Voss had overseen those vendor relationships.
“Did Enzo know?”
“Maybe some.”
Naen raised an eyebrow.
Roman corrected.
“I don’t know.”
Good.
“The cash route belongs to Enzo’s old network,” Roman continued.
“But Voss used it.”
“For himself?”
“Looks that way.”
“How much?”
“Maybe twelve million. Maybe more.”
“And he ordered the stabbing.”
“We don’t know.”
“Do you think he did?”
“Yes.”
“Evidence?”
“Phone metadata puts his burner near the alley.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Roman almost smiled.
“No.”
She had become irritatingly good at his own standard.
Then police found the attacker.
Not through Roman.
Through subway cameras and the knife handle.
His name was Caleb Dunn.
Thirty-nine.
Prior assault convictions.
He admitted stabbing Roman after a plea negotiation.
“I was told to take the folder.”
“By who?”
Dunn asked for counsel again.
Hours later:
“Voss.”
There.
“Did Voss order you to kill Mr. Caruso?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“Scare him. Get the folder.”
Roman closed his eyes when he heard.
Another warning.
Another man interpreting ambiguity with a knife.
“What if Roman resisted?”
Dunn looked away.
“He said do what you have to.”
There it was.
Not kill.
Not spare.
Powerful men love instructions that leave the ugliest verb for someone poorer to choose.
Sebastian Voss was arrested before midnight.
Enzo was not.
Not for the stabbing.
His money-laundering case continued separately.
Then Voss said something during arraignment that changed the story again.
“Ask Roman who taught me to hide money in maintenance vendors.”
Reporters shouted.
Roman’s face did not move.
Naen watched the clip on her phone.
Later she asked him one question by text.
Who taught him?
Roman replied after twenty minutes.
My father.
May you like
And maybe me by continuing the system longer than I should have.
For once, the answer arrived before she had to drag it out.
