Chapter 8 - THE CHAIR THAT BROKE
The first complaint came from a hotel in Charleston.
A guest had been injured when a chair collapsed.
The second came from a restaurant in Nashville.
Then a third.
All involved a model called the Marigold.
My Marigold.
The chair I had designed at twenty-four.
The chair that had built Vale Atelier.
I stared at the photographs.
The joints were wrong.
The internal supports were thinner than our specifications.
And the wood grain didn't match the materials we used.
“These aren't ours,” I whispered.
Miriam examined the images.
“No.”
I looked at Naomi.
“Someone copied the design.”
She nodded.
“That's possible.”
Julian stood beside the table.
“We traced the affected shipments to a subcontractor recently added to your distribution network.”
I looked up.
“Who approved them?”
He hesitated.
“Hudson.”
Of course.
I felt sick.
The subcontractor had produced cheaper copies of our chairs using inferior materials.
They had been shipped under the Vale Atelier name.
The profit margins were enormous.
The safety risks were worse.
I looked at the photographs again.
Someone had been hurt.
Not because of an accident.
Because someone wanted to save money.
I stood.
“We need to contact every customer who received those chairs.”
Naomi nodded.
“The company will need a formal response and recall assessment.”
I turned toward Julian.
“Can Meridian help identify the affected shipments?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked at Miriam.
“We're going to fix this.”
She squeezed my hand.
May you like
Then said quietly:
“That's why you were always the real heart of this company.”
