“Sit,” she said.
Clinton began the presentation.
Charts.
Metrics.
Efficiency.
Headcount.
Output ratios.
Maintenance redundancy.
Audrey watched the room while he spoke. Normally, she would have followed every number with focused attention. Today, she found herself watching hands.
The hands of the supervisors twisting pens.
The hands of HR holding prepared folders.
The hands of Otis Palmer clasped tightly in front of him.
The hands of Liam Carter folded on the table, still cracked from cold, grease beneath the nails no soap could fully remove.
Hands that had pulled her from wreckage.
On the screen, a spreadsheet appeared.
Phase 1 Reduction Candidates.
It moved quickly, but Liam saw his name.
So did Audrey.
Line seventeen.
Liam Carter.
Redundant Maintenance Function.
Something moved across his face.
Not shock.
Not fear.
Something quieter.
Recognition.
The tired understanding of a man who had been waiting for the other boot to drop.
Audrey’s stomach tightened.
Clinton spoke smoothly.
“The night shift carries the highest labor inefficiency. We propose eliminating redundant maintenance roles and transitioning to digital monitoring combined with vendor support.”
Otis leaned forward.
“Those ‘redundant’ roles are why the old casting sector hasn’t killed anybody.”
Clinton smiled.
“With respect, Otis, that kind of thinking is exactly why modernization stalls.”
“Modernization doesn’t mean firing the people who know which machines lie.”
Henry Blake’s voice came through the speaker.
“Machines don’t lie. People overstate risk to protect jobs.”
Liam did not speak.
Audrey noticed.
“You have something to add, Mr. Carter?”
The room turned toward him.
He looked at her, then at Clinton, then at Otis.
“No, ma’am.”
That answer bothered her more than a speech would have.
After the meeting, Audrey toured the plant.
Liam was assigned to assist with technical questions, a decision Clinton clearly disliked but Otis insisted on.
They moved through the fabrication floor, past machines tall as small houses, robotic arms, conveyor systems, hydraulic presses, coolant tanks, and safety stations mounted along yellow lines.
Audrey asked questions.
Liam answered precisely.
“How long has this press exceeded recommended service life?”
“Six years.”
“Why is it still operating?”
“Because every replacement request has been deferred.”
“By whom?”
“Budget review.”
Clinton stepped in.
“Deferred does not mean denied. We prioritize based on risk assessment.”
Liam said nothing.
Audrey turned to him.
“Do you disagree with the risk assessment?”