Two weeks after the InnovateCo contract vanished, a thick envelope arrived. The city planning department seal felt like a cold stone in my hand. I ripped it open, expecting some mundane city notice.
Instead, a form letter declared my artisanal workshop’s operational permits were “inexplicably frozen.”
The reason: “minor structural anomalies.”
I stared at the words, my breath catching. Minor structural anomalies? My workshop was meticulously maintained, just inspected six months ago. The city building inspector had praised its adherence to code.
This was a lie.
I immediately called the number provided. After navigating a maze of automated menus, I finally reached a frazzled-sounding clerk.
“I need to understand this,” I told her, trying to keep my voice steady. “My workshop is perfectly sound.”
The clerk sighed. “Look, ma’am, it’s out of my hands. The directive came from higher up. Specifically, Chief Harding’s office flagged your property.”
My hand tightened around the phone. Chief Harding. The name echoed, cold and clear. Veronica had mentioned him at the gala, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. She had said something about him being “very agreeable” to her projects.
A chill snaked up my spine. This wasn’t just corporate sabotage; Veronica was using local authority figures. How deep did her corruption run?
The line went dead, leaving me in stunned silence, surrounded by the quiet hum of my suddenly useless machinery.
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