Chapter 6 - The Envelope Was Not the Only Thing Missing From Caleb’s Safety File
My attorney, Laura Kim, arranged a meeting with the OSHA investigator after I showed her the inspection-page copy.
His name was Thomas Reed.
He had already interviewed:
Drew,
crew members,
site superintendent,
equipment operators,
two subcontractors.
I asked:
“Did you have this page?”
He looked at the copy.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“Should you?”
“Potentially.”
“What records did the company give you?”
He did not share the entire file immediately.
But he could tell me something important.
The safety log provided by Hartman Excavation contained an entry for the morning of Caleb’s death.
7:05 a.m.
It said:
Trench inspection completed. Protective system acceptable.
Initials:
CH
Caleb Hartman.
I stared at him.
“No.”
Reed looked at me.
“What?”
“Caleb wouldn’t write acceptable and stop work seven minutes apart.”
“Could conditions have changed?”
“Maybe.”
Then I pointed at the signature.
“Can I see it?”
Later, through proper legal channels, we obtained a copy.
The initials looked like Caleb’s.
Almost.
But the way he formed the H was wrong.
Tiny detail.
Meaningless alone.
Then Laura asked:
“Were records edited after the accident?”
Reed answered carefully.
“That is part of what we’re examining.”
No dramatic accusation.
Good.
Then:
“Do you know whether Caleb kept duplicate field notes anywhere?”
I thought.
His truck.
His laptop.
A weatherproof clipboard.
Then:
“His job box.”
Reed looked at me.
“What?”
“Caleb had a small black document box in his truck.”
“For inspection forms and permit copies.”
“Was it recovered?”
I did not know.
Drew had handled Caleb’s company belongings.
I called him after the meeting.
“Where is Caleb’s black field box?”
Silence.
“What box?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“It was behind the passenger seat.”
“Sophie, the truck went back into fleet.”
“Where are his things?”
“We gave you his personal stuff.”
“Not the box.”
“That was company property.”
“Where is it?”
Drew became irritated.
“Probably at the shop.”
“Find it.”
“You need to stop treating everybody like suspects.”
I went quiet.
Then:
“Then give investigators the missing records.”
He hung up.
That was the first time I believed Caleb’s death might involve more than:
May you like
bad luck.
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