Chapter 2

At that, Connor frowned in disapproval. "I know losing your arm sucks, but don't make decisions while you're angry. If you don't pay, you're going to jail—at least ten years. By then, your whole life will be over."

He looked genuinely heartbroken, as if he were truly thinking for my sake. In my previous life, I was completely taken aback by his talks about the three-million-dollar damage and ten-year sentence. I let him talk me into signing that IOU.

The next day, he came to me without a troubled expression and said he had been fired because of my incident. I felt extremely guilty toward him. After I got out of the hospital, I even went to thank him with gifts, only for his neighbor to tell me he had gone to a small town after being fired.

I always thought he was living a hard life there.

One day, while I was collecting garbage in a small town, I overheard him talking with someone. Apparently, right after my arm was crushed, the factory reported it to the headquarters. They were preparing to go public at that time and didn't want that kind of scandal.

Hence, they wired three million dollars to the factory that very night.

Connor volunteered to talk to me, but in reality, he quietly pocketed the entire compensation. Not only that, but he also bought a house and a car in that small town, living an extremely comfortable life.

Just thinking about those years drowning in debt made me want to tear Connor apart. Naturally, I didn't bother being polite.

"I'm not paying a dime, and I'm not going to jail. I was injured while working in the factory. That makes it a workplace injury," I said eloquently.

"According to the workers' comp, if an employee is hurt because of work, the factory has no right to demand that I compensate them for production losses caused by the accident. On top of that, all my medical bills, rehabilitation costs, and hospital meals should be covered by the factory. And most importantly, the factory owes me compensation."

With every sentence I said, Connor's face went a shade paler. My one good hand slowly curled into a fist.

All of this was what I had looked up on my phone in my previous life, right after hearing his lies. And it was reading those words that stunned me so badly that my mind went blank. I didn't hear the people shouting. I didn't hear the truck horn. That was how the accident killed me.

When I finished speaking, a thin layer of sweat had formed on Connor's forehead. I thought he would try to scare me again, maybe tell me not to trust what I had read online, but he took a tissue and wiped his forehead.

Good-naturedly, he said, "Oh, I see now. I didn't expect you to know so much, Zachary. Looks like the HQ just doesn't want to pay and was trying to scare us. Don't worry, I'll talk to them for you. Not a single penny of your compensation will be lost."

I didn't quite understand his sudden shift, but I put on a smile. "You don't need to run back and forth for this, Uncle Connor. I'm definitely not going back to work, and since you will, dealing with my case would only make things harder for you.

"Tell you what—I'll handle all the communication with the factory myself."

He looked a little unhappy but insisted we were family. No matter what, even if it cost him his job, he would make sure I got what I was owed. He was acting formal and serious, and I simply responded with a fake smile.

Eventually, he slunk away. Once he left, Mom started grumbling, "I can't believe you. Why aren't you letting him stand up for you? He's the factory supervisor. How could he not have more influence than a lowly employee like you?"

I didn't say a word to Mom. There was no way I could explain the money situation to her. Even if I tried, she wouldn't get it. To her, keeping good relations with relatives was the most important thing in the world.

If she found out I was doing all this to stop Connor from scamming my compensation, she would never see it as the right move. Instead, she would complain that I was ruining family ties.

After expressing my desire to handle the communication myself, the plant manager, Mike Wilson, unexpectedly showed up in person the next day. He spent 30 minutes expressing his sympathy before he got to the point.

"Connor has told us about your needs. Don't worry. We run a proper factory, and there's no way you won't be given what you deserve," Mike said. "Your medical expenses, lost wages, rehab costs—they'll all be covered."

He then placed an envelope on my bed. "On top of that, you'll be receiving 30,000 dollars in compensation—right here. Now, take care and have a speedy recovery."

Seeing the so-called compensation I deserved, I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "Is that all?"