Three from an unknown number.
Two from my former coworker, Natalie.
One from Halden & Price’s general counsel.
Dana had taken my phone, photographed the call log, and instructed me to send only one message.
Please direct all further communication to my attorney, Dana Moretti.
Greg replied in under a minute.
You’re making a mistake.
Then:
Whatever you think you have, you don’t understand it.
Then:
Call me before this gets worse.
I did not respond.
Instead, I drove home to the small ranch house my mother had left me, parked in the driveway, and sat with both hands on the steering wheel. The porch light was still on. I had forgotten to turn it off the morning of the funeral.
For a moment, grief rose so sharply I could barely breathe.
I wanted to call her.
I wanted to hear her say, “Make tea first. Panic after.”
But the house was silent.
So I made tea.
Then I opened my laptop again.
At 7:42 the next morning, Dana filed a wrongful termination and retaliation complaint with the proper state and federal agencies. She also sent preservation letters to Halden & Price, warning them not to destroy emails, audit logs, vendor records, maintenance reports, HR files, or internal communications tied to my employment and the Bedford spill.
At 8:15, Halden & Price revoked my employee portal access.
Too late.
At 8:32, Greg called again.
At 9:10, Dana received a letter from Halden & Price’s general counsel accusing me of holding confidential business records and demanding their immediate return.
Dana’s response was only six sentences.
It stated that the documents were evidence of unlawful conduct, that my possession was lawful under whistleblower protections, and that any attempt to intimidate me would be added to the retaliation record.
At 11:03, Natalie called from her personal phone.
“Claire,” she whispered, “what did you do?”
I stood in my kitchen, watching steam rise from my mug.
“What happened?”