The café smelled of burnt beans and rain. Julia’s fingers trembled against the chipped mug, warmth doing little to steady the cold crawling through her veins. Across from her sat a man with gray in his beard and a limp in his walk, the kind that spoke of years spent in labor. His eyes darted to the window before meeting hers.
“Your father was a good man,” he said quietly. “He didn’t deserve what happened in that factory.”
Julia’s breath caught. “You worked there?”
He nodded. “I was on the line the day it happened. The equipment had been breaking down for months. Your father filed reports, begged management to fix it. They never did.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. “Why not?”
The man leaned closer, voice trembling. “Because the contract came from Hughes Corp. Repairs cost money. Delays
