The Families Brought Their Boxes And Asked To See Their Molds

The second mother had not called to threaten me.

"My daughter liked you," she said. "Before I pay him again, I want you to explain this letter."

I asked if she would speak with Ruth. I could not share other children's records or promise that her daughter's brace matched her prescription.

She agreed.

By Monday, six families had brought notices to Jonah. Two had unopened shipping boxes. Four had braces with the same small P4 or P5 marks.

Those marks alone proved very little. Mara made sure everyone heard that.

"We check each child and each order," she said. "We don't guess from a number."

She arranged clinical visits for children who needed them. Jonah handled the paper.

Laila made a list of willing parents and their contact choices. She did not post pictures of children online. She sent people their own entries to check.

"I count books for a living," she told me. "I can count boxes."

Everett sent my dismissal by certified mail on Tuesday. He called it failure to cooperate with a safety investigation.

He also held my final pay and the unused leave owed under our written policy, $3,640 before deductions, as a proposed charge for damaged materials.

Ruth filed my wage claim and a civil complaint over the notice he had sent families. Jonah filed Laila's case that same week, with a request to preserve the devices and business records.

We had a reason to ask quickly.

A former coworker, Beth, had received a cleanup instruction after the preservation letters. She forwarded it to the clinic's lawyer and asked for written guidance before moving anything.

Then she called Ruth.

The instruction named the back storage rack and the vendor history.

"He said the old casts were taking up room," Beth told her.

The judge granted a temporary order against destroying or changing the named evidence. It did not decide who had lied. It kept the boxes, molds, and records in place while the case moved forward.

An agreed inspection followed the next Friday, with both sides' lawyers present. The families signed releases for their own material.

I returned to Little Current through the side door.

My yellow apron still hung behind the glass. Someone had turned it toward the wall.

Everett stood beside his lawyer.

"This is hard on the children," he said.

Laila looked at the storage-room door.

"Then let's find what belongs to them."

The room smelled of plaster dust. We kept each child's positive mold on a shelf, tagged with the order number. A positive mold was the solid foot and lower leg shape over which I formed the heated plastic.

Samir's tag was still tied to his mold.

Behind it sat his custom shell.

It had the heel pocket, the calf notch, and my yellow sensor mark.

It still needed its permanent straps and final edge work. Those were the finishing steps Everett had promised to send out. My temporary fitting bands sat in the bin below it.

A paper band around it said REJECTED—CRACKED.

Mara inspected it under the bright bench lamp. She found no crack. She asked for the supposed damage to be identified in writing.

Everett said he could not remember that individual order.

Laila touched the edge of the paper band.

"This stayed here while my son wore the other one?"

No one answered her.

Mara compared the retained shell to the mold and the trial photos. Then she compared the delivered brace, without putting it on Samir.

The shapes were plainly different. The lawyer's photographer recorded the measurements.

Other families watched their own inspections in separate appointments. One girl's delivered brace was wider than the shell made over her mold. A boy's had a stock calf edge where his approved shell had a deep curve.

There were also two orders that matched. Jonah recorded those with the same care.

"We need a true count," Laila said.

At the front desk, an insurer's auditor reviewed Samir's billing record with permission. The Prairie Unit entry was gone from the active vendor list.

An attached invoice now said FINISHING SERVICES.

The auditor asked when that version had been uploaded.

Everett reached for the keyboard.

His lawyer stopped him.

We left without touching the computer. The auditor requested an export and its change history through the lawyers.

Outside, I helped Laila carry her son's sealed evidence bag to her car. Across the lot, trucks rumbled toward the highway. The clinic's welcome banner snapped against its pole.

"I used to feel rude asking him for details," she said.

"You weren't rude."

"I know that now."

Before I could answer, Jonah came out holding his phone.

A supplier manager named Dale Voss had sent Laila a demand for the return of the unopened replacement's packing slip.

He called it stolen company property.