Chapter 1

30,000 emergency meals meant for the disaster-stricken area were all sent to the incinerator as hazardous waste.

The order to destroy them came from the deputy chief of the Health Department, Joanne Shea, my wife.

The whistleblower was her childhood friend, Kevin Stafford, who claimed to be a retired undercover journalist.

This was already the third time he had targeted my company.

The first time, he reported my truck for illegal parking. Joanne then forced me to issue a public apology.

The second time, he conducted an undercover investigation and accused me of violating packaging label regulations. Joanne issued a fine without hesitation and ordered my company to undergo a month-long rectification.

Each time, Joanne has sided with him, using me as an example for others to learn from.

This time, with water and electricity cut off in the disaster area, I rushed supplies there overnight only to be blocked at the entrance once again.

Holding the certification of compliance, I pleaded, “The front lines can’t wait. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame with my life!”

However, Joanne coldly waved me off. “Kevin is a journalist. He would never take the disaster area lightly! Destroy the supplies immediately!”

Two days later, the lab report confirmed that the food met all standards.

However, the emergency rations had already been destroyed, and the “‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief” scandal had spread like wildfire online.

The company faced a widespread online boycott, and major clients terminated their contracts overnight.

Joanne looked at the lab report. She felt guilty but still kept her arrogance. “I guess Kevin misjudged the situation, but he meant well.”

I found it all hilarious and slipped off my wedding ring. “I’ve given you three chances. Let’s get a divorce.”

Chapter 1

I took my ring and casually tossed it onto the table.

Joanne furrowed her brow and stared blankly for several seconds before adopting an exasperated expression.

“Liam Seymour, can’t you act a little more mature?

“I’m cooperating with the media to handle food safety investigations. Procedurally, there’s no issue.

“You know full well what the situation is like in the disaster area. With tens of thousands of lives at stake, I have to minimize the risk as much as possible.”

When she said that before, it used to sound reassuring. Hearing it again at this moment felt as cold as a scalpel cutting through bone.

Before the emergency rations were incinerated, I handed her the quality inspection report.

She did not even glance at it. She looked down, tapped her phone, and then spoke one word into the walkie-talkie. She said, “Proceed.”

Kevin wore that “I’m here to mediate” look of discomfort.

“Mr. Seymour, this is my fault.”

He kept his tone controlled, filled with guilt and self-criticism.

“I’ve done plenty of undercover investigations into black-market workshops before.

“When I saw the meat in the meal boxes was the wrong color, I was afraid the people in the disaster area would get sick. So, I quickly reported it to Joanne and exposed it on the livestream.

“It was just my professional instinct kicking in. Don’t take it out on Joanne.”

During the livestream, he had looked straight into the camera, expressing deep outrage and accusing me of profiteering off a national disaster.

At this moment, he was standing right in front of me while pretending to be an impartial observer.

He sure changed his tune fast.

“If you suspected it was a coincidence, why did your live-streaming team set up four camera angles in advance?”

“The press release about ‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief’ was released exactly one minute before the raid. Mr. Stafford, does your professional instinct come with the ability to predict the future?”

Kevin’s mouth twitched slightly.

Joanne immediately stepped forward and stood in front of him.

“Liam, don’t go too far! The media just happened to capture it while covering the relief efforts.

“Kevin is a journalist who’s serving the people. Do you really have to assume everyone is so sinister?”

She spread her arms to shield him.

I looked down at the ring on the table.

It was a simple silver band. She had slipped it onto my finger herself three years ago. She had said, “From now on, you’re under my care.” Her eyes had crinkled with a smile.

“May your light illuminate all the darkness.”

With that, I walked out.

“Liam!” she called after me.

I did not turn around.

Back at the office, the air was thick with the stifling smell of printer paper mixed with instant coffee.

Dozens of people sat at their desks. None of them spoke.

Correspondence lay spread out on the tables. Grand Skies Cinema Chain, Everstar Supermarkets, and seven state-level city distributors had all halted their purchases.

The reason for termination was the same across the board: to mitigate the risk of major food safety issues.

The 30,000 emergency meals were an official aid project approved by the board of directors.

I personally oversaw the production line. The suppliers we selected provided the highest-quality meat and vegetables in every portion.

All that food was in the incinerator. Not even ashes remained.

The company had been unfairly accused of “profiting from national misfortune.” Half of our tens of millions in business collapsed overnight.

Colette from the administrative department was slumped over her desk. Her shoulders were shaking.

She had been with me for three years and was usually the most efficient worker.

I walked over and tapped the edge of the desk. She looked up at me with teary eyes.

“Mr. Seymour, my parents called today asking if I was working at some unscrupulous factory. I told them no, but they didn’t believe me.”

Behind her, someone pushed their keyboard away. The metal base clunked against the desk with a dull thud.

No one spoke, but that dull thud carried more weight than any words could.

Chapter 2

Joe came over clutching the documents. His voice trembled slightly.

“Mr. Seymour, the only way to turn this around now is to quickly send out that passing lab report to set the record straight…”

My cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a message from Joanne. The texts were as cold as a bucket of ice water.

[It’s not advisable to make the positive lab results public at this time. We want to avoid raising public doubts about the credibility of law enforcement.]

[Kevin is about to be named one of the ‘Top Ten Heroes of the Year.’ We can’t afford any negative publicity right now.]

[Just play along. Issue a statement admitting that ‘negligence in warehouse temperature control led to the product’s appearance changing.’ Once the storm blows over, I’ll find a way to compensate you.]

I stared at those words. [Just play along.]

My stomach twisted.

The year she joined the Health Department, a small restaurant was maliciously reported by a competitor.

As just a young woman, she spent three days and three nights reviewing surveillance footage and checking purchase orders.

Finally, she defied pressure from her superiors. She slammed her fist on the table and declared, “Public authorities cannot take away someone’s livelihood without evidence.”

Back then, I absolutely loved that headstrong streak of hers.

It was precisely because of that statement that I quit my job at a multinational corporation and founded this company.

I wanted to produce the cleanest food possible and be the strongest support behind her.

At this moment, she sat in her position as deputy chief, facing her own husband’s shipment.

It was 30,000 portions of life-saving meals for the disaster area. Yet she burned them all just because Kevin’s mentioned it was “suspicious.”

After burning it all, she expected me to swallow my pride and pave the way for Kevin.

I slammed my phone down on the table.

“Hold onto the lab reports. Don’t let anyone release them,” I told Joe.

Joe froze. “Mr. Seymour, have you lost your mind?”

“I haven’t lost my mind. If we release them now, the Health Department will find a hundred ways to water down the issue with bureaucratic jargon. We just have to wait for the storm to pass.”

After thinking for a moment, I looked at Joe.

“Our goods have been destroyed, and tens of thousands of people in the disaster area are waiting for food. The Emergency Response Office will inevitably have to make emergency purchases of substitutes.

“Go find out who landed that contract.”

Joe’s expression changed instantly. Having been in this line of work for over a decade, he caught on immediately.

The next day, an exclusive interview from an official media outlet went viral online.

[The Lone Hero Heading Into the Disaster Zone: Making Sure the People Don’t Eat a Single Bite of Spoiled Meat.]

Kevin stood in front of my company’s impounded truck wearing a windbreaker. His eyes were red with tears, and his voice was choked with sadness.

“There are people who say I’m meddling and cutting off people’s livelihoods. But I’m a journalist. My pen is my sword.

“I’d rather wrongly accuse a thousand people than let the disaster-stricken people eat a single bite of spoiled meat!”

The comments section hailed him as a “beacon of justice.”

Under my company’s account, the comments said things along the lines of [May those who profit from national misfortune die a horrible death.]

Scrolling through my feed, I saw Joanne had reposted that exclusive interview with a caption.

[Stand firm under pressure. Hold onto principles.]

I stared at those words for a long time.

A dull ache gripped my chest.

Her “principles” were to trample on the very lifeblood of my company to pave the way for someone else’s glory.

At 3:00 p.m., my personal phone rang.

I answered. It was my comrade in arms, David, from the disaster zone. His voice came out hoarse and frantic.

“Mr. Seymour, what is going on with that shipment of yours?!”

David was leading the Blue Sky Rescue Team on the front lines in the hardest-hit area. He was gasping for breath.

“The Emergency Response Office sent over a batch of replacement self-heating meals, but the meat smells sour and rotten. Some evacuees have already eaten it and thrown up!”

Chapter 3

I jumped to my feet while digging my fingers into the corner of the table.

“I’ve opened four boxes! All four taste exactly the same! Is this supposed to be food for humans?

“There are over thirty of us here, and we’ve only had two hardtack biscuits since noon yesterday. We saved our appetites for this hot meal, and this is what we get!”

“Liam, do you have any idea what the temperature is like in the disaster area right now? It’s 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

“The mud’s up to our knees, Louis’ leg wound has already started to fester, and we still have to wade through the water to deliver supplies!”

His voice cracked. He took a couple of ragged breaths before continuing.

He said, “That guy in charge of supply distribution didn’t say a thing. He just said, ‘It’s an emergency purchase. If there’s a problem, take it up with the higher-ups.’

“Take it to the higher-ups? Where are the higher-ups? I’ve made over a dozen calls, and no one’s picking up!

“Your wife used to feel so bad for you working late on quality control. Why is she personally leading the team to seal off your shipment this time?”

Those words pierced me like a rusty nail.

I took a deep breath as I forced down the metallic taste in my throat.

“David, listen up. Take photos of the stinking meal boxes as evidence and record the disaster victims’ symptoms and the doctors’ diagnoses.

“Secure the evidence. Don’t give it to anyone. Wait for my call.”

I went home that evening.

As I pushed open the door, the scent of houseplants filled the room. She used to say the house needed to be full of life. I would tease her that whatever she grew would die. Then, she would chase me with her slippers.

The leaves were a glossy green, but they only made the living room feel emptier.

I went into the bedroom and dragged out my suitcase.

The photo of us was still sitting on the nightstand.

It was taken last fall when we went hiking. The two of us leaned against each other. She was making a peace sign with a smile, her canines showing.

I did not take that photo.

I was halfway through packing when the code lock on the front door beeped.

Joanne was back.

She came in after changing her shoes and saw the suitcase on the floor. Her expression darkened.

“Liam, there’s a limit to throwing a tantrum, isn’t there?”

I did not say anything and kept packing.

“Kevin has been blaming himself all day over what happened online. He hasn’t eaten a thing and has been apologizing to me nonstop.

“Are you trying to threaten me by running away from home now?”

The disaster victims were vomiting after eating rotten food, and my company was on the verge of bankruptcy from being cyberbullied all over the internet.

Yet she was worried about Kevin not eating.

I zipped up the suitcase and stood up.

I walked to the entryway, took the house key off my keychain, and set it on the shoe cabinet.

The metal clattered against wood with a crisp sound.

Only then did I speak. “I’m not threatening you. I’m just making room for you.”

I opened the door and walked out.

No footsteps followed me. Only the living room light remained on.

The day after I moved into a hotel, Joanne showed up.

She had not changed out of her uniform yet. The metal clasps on her shoulder straps were glinting.

She first glanced at the laptop bag on the bed and the instant noodle cup in the corner of the desk.

The curtains were still drawn, and the room was dim.

She frowned slightly. It was a tiny frown, but I caught it.

Then, she stepped inside, set the folder on the desk, and pulled out a chair to sit down.

Before sitting, she patted the seat with her hand. Then, she brushed her palm against it. She only sat down after confirming it was clean.

With the file resting on the desk, her tone softened slightly, though it still carried that “I’m here to deliver the proposal” undertone.

“Why did you move out? To make a spectacle of yourself?”

She tapped the file. “The department’s final decision has come down.”

Chapter 4

“There was no actual harm to food safety. Also, I’ve gone out of my way to highlight your company’s usual track record.

“A fine of 100,000 dollars and a two-month suspension of operations. This is the lightest penalty I could secure for you, despite the pressure from my superiors.

“Just sign here to admit your mistake. Kevin will put in a good word for you on social media. Then, we can put this behind us and go home to live a peaceful life.”

I sat on the couch while staring at the file titled [Administrative Penalty Decision].

100,000, two months, admit fault.

My heart felt nothing but desolation.

“Am I to go back to that home where you’d push me out to take the fall for your childhood sweetheart at any moment?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Joanne’s expression froze. Then, her tone immediately rose.

“You’re saying things like this again! I told you, it’s just his professional instinct! Why do you have to keep harping on him?”

I looked into her eyes, thinking I would make one last test.

“Joanne, what if I told you about the batch of relief supplies procured by the Emergency Response Office?

“The meat was rotten, and the rice was undercooked. The disaster victims who ate it ended up with food poisoning.”

She paused for a moment. “That’s impossible. The Emergency Response Office has strict procurement procedures.”

“Then, what if I also told you that the company supplying that batch was run by Kevin’s uncle?

“That his so-called ‘crackdown on counterfeits in the name of justice’ campaign from the very beginning was just a ploy to destroy my goods and profit from the nation’s misfortune?”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Then, Joanne slammed her fist on the table and stood up.

“Liam, you’re completely unreasonable! I’ve known Kevin since we were kids. I know him better than anyone!

“He’s an undercover reporter who’s willing to risk his life. Why would he care about a little money?

“You’re making up these lies to shift the blame and slander him! When did you become so narrow-minded and spiteful?”

As I looked at her, the pain in my chest suddenly eased.

A string that had been taut for far too long snapped cleanly in an instant.

I pushed the divorce agreement I had signed last night across the table.

The cover was face up, revealing what it was.

Joanne’s voice caught in her throat.

She stared at the agreement. Her throat moved slightly, but she did not speak.

I looked down and replaced the lid on the instant noodle cup. The noodles had already softened, and the broth had pretty much gone cold.

She stood across from the coffee table. Her breathing was a little heavy, but she said nothing.

I waited about five seconds. She did not speak, did not move, and did not reach out to touch the agreement.

I raised my hand and pushed the agreement forward a bit more. The edge of the document bumped against the corner of her administrative penalty decision notice.

“I’ve signed it. Take the divorce agreement and go find your ‘righteous’ reporter.”