Chapter 7 - Sixty-Seven People Beneath the Wreckage
By midnight, emergency services had accounted for most of the attendees.
But the disaster had left dozens injured, several critically, and families waiting for confirmation about missing relatives.
The figure of sixty-seven referred to the people initially reported as possibly trapped or unaccounted for in the affected sections.
As teams reconciled witness accounts, attendee lists, and hospital records, that number changed.
Some had escaped without checking in.
Others had been transported before names were recorded.
Several were still beneath the damaged structure.
The uncertainty was agonizing.
---
Nora completed a clinical handoff and was directed to rest.
She resisted at first.
The incident medical supervisor looked at her.
"Lieutenant Halloran, you've been working for hours."
"I'm fine."
"That's not an assessment."
Nora almost smiled.
Her grandfather used to say the same thing.
She stepped into the staff rest area, drank water, and ate half a sandwich.
Her hands trembled slightly.
That frightened her more than she wanted to admit.
She had seen severe injuries before.
But mass-casualty events carried a particular kind of weight.
So many families.
So many simultaneous needs.
No single person could hold them all.
She looked at the red backpack.
The fishing-line repair was still there.
And suddenly she remembered the old college quad.
Marcus bleeding.
Brooke laughing.
The paramedic arriving.
Five years had passed.
Yet the lesson remained.
The moment mattered.
But so did everything a person had done to prepare for it.
---
Marcus entered the rest area carrying two bottles of water.
"One for you."
Nora accepted it.
"Thanks."
He sat beside her.
"You okay?"
She hesitated.
"Not really."
He nodded.
"Me neither."
They sat quietly.
Then Marcus said, "I remember what it was like to be the one on the ground."
Nora looked at him.
"I know."
"You kept talking to me."
"You were conscious."
"That's not why I remember."
She waited.
"You treated me like a person, not a disaster."
Nora's eyes filled.
He squeezed her shoulder.
"That's what you did today too."
---
Elsewhere, Brooke stood before a television camera for the first time since the collapse.
A reporter asked whether the foundation had ignored structural concerns.
Brooke's communications team had prepared a statement.
The Whitfield Foundation has always prioritized safety.
She read the first sentence.
Then stopped.
The words sounded hollow.
She remembered her conversation with Paige that morning.
An engineer had raised concerns.
Brooke had dismissed them as paperwork.
She looked into the camera.
"I was told there were questions about documentation before the event."
The reporter leaned forward.
"What questions?"
Brooke swallowed.
"I don't have all the details. But I should have asked for them, and I should not have assumed everything was fine."
Paige, standing off-camera, went pale.
The reporter continued.
"Are you saying you knew the grandstand might be unsafe?"
"I'm saying I knew concerns existed and failed to make sure they were resolved before I gave my speech."
Silence.
Then Brooke added, "I will provide what I know to investigators."
It wasn't a complete answer.
But it was true.
And for the first time in her public life, Brooke valued that more than looking impressive.
---
Harrison Whitfield watched the interview from his office.
His face turned red.
He called Brooke immediately.
She didn't answer.
He called Paige.
"What the hell was that?"
Paige swallowed.
"She went off script."
"Fix it."
"Sir, the statement is already everywhere."
Harrison slammed his fist onto the desk.
"She's destroying the foundation."
Paige looked toward the television.
Behind Brooke, emergency workers continued moving injured people toward ambulances.
For the first time, Paige wondered whether preserving the foundation's reputation was the wrong problem to be solving.
---
The following morning, officials confirmed that multiple people had died in the collapse.
The announcement devastated the community.
Nora watched quietly from the medical coordination area.
She knew some patients would not survive despite everyone's efforts.
She also knew that loss was not proof that responders had failed.
Still, the names hurt.
Every name belonged to someone.
A mother.
A brother.
A teacher.
A friend.
---
Brooke attended the first family briefing without cameras.
She sat at the back.
When a father asked who had approved the grandstand, she didn't know what to say.
He turned toward her.
"Your family built this."
Brooke swallowed.
"Yes."
"Then tell us why my wife isn't coming home."
The room fell silent.
Brooke's eyes filled.
"I don't know yet."
The man stared.
She continued.
"But I intend to help find out."
He looked away.
There was no gratitude.
No forgiveness.
She didn't expect any.
For the first time, Brooke understood that leadership was not the art of making people applaud.
Sometimes it meant standing in a room where nobody liked you and answering the questions you had spent your life avoiding.
---
That evening, Emily Ross arrived at the incident investigation office carrying a folder.
She had preserved the warning she'd sent weeks earlier.
The emails.
The missing verification requests.
The replies dismissing her concerns.
She placed everything before the investigator.
"I tried to get this reviewed before the opening."
The investigator looked at the dates.
Then at her.
"Who received these warnings?"
Emily answered.
The investigator read the list.
At the top was Harrison Whitfield's construction office.
May you like
And copied on one of the final messages was Brooke's communications director.
Paige Sutton.
