My New Boss Put His Complaint On The Shop Desk

Sela Gant called me into the dive shop before I could hang up my jacket.

My apprentice binder lay open on her desk. Beside it sat a printed email from Pierce.

He had sent it at 5:43 that morning.

"He says you failed during an emergency," she told me. "He also says you're passing around stolen patient records."

Beyond the open door, someone tested a compressor. The low thump filled each pause.

I set my bag down.

"Can I show you the release slip?"

"Please do."

Sela owned the crew and still took her own turns under hulls. She had thick glasses, a chipped front tooth, and no patience for missing checklists.

She read the slip. It listed the duplicate log by incident date and page count. The records clerk's name and stamp sat at the bottom.

Then she read Talia's new consent.

"This answers the stolen-record claim," she said. "I'll keep these copies in the complaint file."

"Am I fired?"

"No. You get to answer a complaint before I make a finding."

She pulled a chair closer.

"For this week, you'll stay on deck at your regular rate. Our policy requires that while I check a reported emergency performance issue. Your current hours stay signed."

I had been due for my first supervised inspection dive on Thursday.

"Does Thursday move?"

"It does. I'll put the reason in writing."

That hurt more than I expected. Pierce hadn't touched a valve in our shop. He had still reached it.

I gave Sela the voicemail without adding a speech. She listened twice.

"Save the original," she said.

She wrote the time and date on her email printout, then signed across the bottom.

"I won't let him sign your hours from his kitchen."

At lunch, I sat behind the shop with a sandwich I couldn't finish. A pelican stood on a piling past the fence, facing the wind.

I worked the blue cord around the handle of my thermos. Cross, tuck, pull. A hitch could look tight and still slip if you never tested it.

My phone rang.

It was a records clerk named Luis Penn. He had received my request and wanted to confirm my current address.

"Your former unit can examine the incident account," he said. "Changing a filed evaluation takes a separate process. We can tell you what to submit."

"So opening this doesn't fix my record?"

"No. It starts a review."

I wrote that down.

Penn asked for the release slip and the full email chain behind Ward's request. I sent both through the secure link he gave me.

An hour later, he called again.

"The section's incident packet has the evaluation and a short supervisor summary. It doesn't include the chamber log."

"There was a chamber log. You're looking at my copy."

"I understand. We need an independent source to verify it."

I watched a truck back toward the shop gate.

"The medical officer had the other copy. Lieutenant Ward."

"I've requested the medical-side record through the proper office. It may take time. If you have current contact information for her, send that too."

I still had Ward's old service email. My message came back undelivered.

For ten minutes, I stared at the failed address. Then I called Talia.

"I can reach her," she said. "She followed up with me after I left."

"Tell her she can say no."

"To hearing from the man who ran my chamber? I'll give her your number."

That afternoon, I cleaned hose fittings while the rest of the crew loaded for a job. Nobody mocked me. Nobody invited me onto the truck either.

Sela came out with a signed note. It confirmed my pay, my current hours, and the temporary change in duty.

"Paper works both ways," she said. "You should have mine too."

I folded it carefully.

Before closing, Mara emailed. The cooperative board had voted to hold the award for ten business days while it checked the rescue claim. Pierce would receive the concern and a chance to answer.

He wouldn't lose $186,000 because I spoke at dinner. He would have to answer questions about the paragraph he'd used to earn it.

I could live with that.

At 7:12, an unfamiliar number appeared on my screen.

"Enzo?" a woman said. "This is Nessa Ward. Talia sent me your packet."

I stood up from my kitchen chair.

"Do you remember the correction request?"

"I remember being told it was handled. I've just opened the acknowledgment Pierce sent me."

She paused.

"His signature is on it."