The news of Van's suspension landed like a depth charge in the already turbulent waters of the "Tây Hồ New City" project. His banishment to a cramped corner desk in the document room, ostensibly for "cooperation," felt like solitary confinement. The air hung thick with the scent of dust, damp paper, and stale coffee, punctuated only by the monotonous hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of keyboards. Outside, Hanoi's monsoon season persisted; grey skies wept intermittently, mirroring Van's internal desolation. Rain streaked the grimy windows, blurring the view of the chaotic construction site – a world he was suddenly barred from.
His days became a grim routine: sorting mountains of dusty files, cross-referencing invoices under Thu's (Thu) watchful, yet perpetually averted gaze, and enduring the relentless interrogations from the Investigation Team. The team, a trio radiating institutional chill, consisted of Ms. Anh from Audit (late twenties, sharp features, perpetually frowning behind rimless glasses, fingers flying over her tablet), Mr. Minh, her silent Audit shadow (taking meticulous notes), and Mr. Tuan from Engineering (a grizzled veteran with shrewd eyes that missed nothing, his weathered hands resting calmly on the table).
Their questions were surgical strikes, delivered with icy precision:
"Nguyễn Văn," Ms. Anh began, her voice devoid of inflection, "Walk us through the supplier pre-qualification process for Batch A-0723. Specifically, why was this particular supplier shortlisted over others? Were their financials scrutinized thoroughly? Their previous project references verified?" She peered over her glasses, her gaze like a laser pointer on Van's face.
Van countered, pulling out meticulously organized files. "The standard procedure was followed, Ms. Anh. Here are the financial audits, reference checks from three completed projects within the last two years – all satisfactory. Their technical capability assessment scored above the threshold." He laid out the documents, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach.
Mr. Tuan leaned forward, his gravelly voice cutting in. "The initial slump test report showed compliance. Yet, site foreman Trần reported significant workability issues – the mix was sticky, difficult to pump and compact. As the responsible Materials Specialist, why didn't these discrepancies trigger a deeper investigation? A secondary slump test after resting? A demand for batch-specific quality control data from the supplier?" His gaze was probing, searching for a crack in Van's defense.
Van met his gaze. "The initial test met specification, Mr. Tuan. Site feedback was logged immediately." He produced a copy of his email timestamped the day of the pour, addressed to Procurement and Technical Department, highlighting the workability concerns and requesting further verification. "Procurement responded, citing supplier guarantees. Technical Department did not acknowledge the concern within the critical timeframe before placement."
"You noted a 'potential risk' on the acceptance form," Ms. Anh interjected, tapping her tablet screen displaying a scanned document. "Yet, you authorized its use. Why not escalate? Why not formally recommend restricting its application to non-critical elements? A mere note seems insufficient for a material flagged as potentially problematic." Her tone implied negligence.
Van felt a flash of frustration. "The note was the escalation within the established protocol at that stage, Ms. Anh. Without conclusive test failure, halting a critical pour requires higher authorization. My recommendation for restriction was made verbally to Site Management during the pre-pour briefing." He gestured towards the meeting minutes, which lacked specific detail on his verbal warning – a frustrating omission.
Mr. Minh scribbled furiously. Ms. Anh exchanged a glance with Mr. Tuan, whose expression remained unreadable.
"There are… suggestions," Ms. Anh continued, her voice dropping slightly, "of personal friction between you and Mr. Dũng in Procurement. Did this… history… cloud your judgment regarding this supplier or this specific batch? Lead to undue scrutiny or, conversely, a reluctance to push back harder?" The implication hung heavy in the air.
Van's jaw tightened. "My professional assessments are based solely on data and specifications, Ms. Anh. Any disagreements with Mr. Dũng regarding past procurement strategies are documented project communications and unrelated to the technical evaluation of Batch A-0723." He presented email threads showing technical disagreements, keeping his tone factual, refusing to rise to the bait.
Dũng (Dũng), meanwhile, played his part with theatrical flair. Summoned before the investigators, he arrived impeccably dressed in a light blue shirt, hair slicked back, radiating a carefully crafted aura of contrition mixed with bewildered innocence.
"Sirs, Madam," Dũng began, his voice thick with regret, "I accept my share of responsibility. Perhaps… perhaps I placed too much faith in the supplier's assurances. Their track record seemed solid, their representatives persuasive." He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "But Van… well, he's young, eager, maybe a bit… rigid? Sometimes gets fixated on minor deviations, loses sight of the bigger operational picture. Risk management isn't just about ticking boxes, it's about practical judgment under pressure." He paused, letting the insinuation hang. "We've had… differences of opinion in the past, sure. Procurement often has to balance cost, speed, and quality – it's a tightrope. But personal? Never! I'd never let that influence project decisions! This whole thing… it's a tragedy for the project." He shook his head mournfully, his performance worthy of a stage.
The whispers in the corridors grew louder, fueled by Dũng's narrative and the visible suspension.
"Heard Van blocked that cement order to make a point, show up Dũng… delayed everything…"
"Yeah, personal grudge. Got too big for his boots. Now look."
"Kid's smart, but no political savvy. Burnt himself out."
"Kim Hải's furious. Cleaning house. He's definitely gone."
Van felt the isolation deepen, thick as the humid air. He was an island besieged by hostile currents. Thu treated him like a contagion, her interactions reduced to monosyllables and the sharp clack of her keyboard. The document room, once a quiet refuge, now felt like a prison cell. Nights were long and restless, filled with the gnawing anxiety of injustice, the bitter taste of betrayal, and the cold fear of losing everything he'd worked for. The rhythmic drumming of rain on the tin roof became the soundtrack to his despair. He couldn't burden his mother or sister; their lives were hard enough. His only lifeline was Linh (Linh).
"Linh…" His voice was a raspy whisper over the phone late one night, exhaustion and despair warring in his tone. "I… I've been suspended."
"Suspended?!" Linh's gasp was sharp, laced with shock and immediate concern. "Van! What happened? Tell me everything!"
Van poured out the saga – the flawed cement, Kim Hải's explosive reaction, Dũng's poisonous maneuvering, the relentless, biased questioning from the investigators, the crushing weight of being the designated scapegoat. "…They need someone to blame, Linh. Dũng set me up perfectly. Kim Hải… he just wants this swept under the rug, costs minimized. I'm expendable." His voice cracked, the frustration and helplessness threatening to overwhelm him.
"That's… that's despicable!" Linh's fury vibrated down the line, fierce and protective. "They can't do this! It's the cement! It's their negligence! Van, you cannot let them win! You have to fight back! Prove them wrong! I'll help you! This weekend – I'm coming over. We'll go through everything, piece by piece. We'll build your defense so strong they can't ignore it! Truth will prevail!" Her conviction was a bolt of lightning in his darkness.
Linh's words ignited a spark of defiance. He wouldn't go down without a fight.
That Saturday, Linh arrived at Van's modest apartment like a ray of sunshine piercing the monsoon gloom. She wore a simple, fresh white dress, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere Van carried. She carried a sturdy laptop bag and a folder brimming with printouts – legal precedents, case studies on construction material liability, procured through her friend at the law firm. Van, in turn, laid out his arsenal: binders containing original and final cement test reports (highlighting minor but consistent variations in the A-0723 sub-batches), scanned copies of delivery notes with his handwritten risk annotations clearly visible, printed email chains documenting his warnings and the dismissive or non-existent responses, digital photos of the site logs showing the slump test results and placement times, even his early, handwritten notes analyzing the long-term risks of prioritizing low-cost materials over consistent quality.
Their small living room transformed into a war room. Linh, with fierce concentration, became the strategist and archivist. She created detailed digital folders, cross-referencing dates, documents, and key players. She drafted timelines on a large sheet of paper taped to the wall, visually mapping the sequence of events and failures. Van, drawing on his deep technical knowledge and sharp recall, acted as the analyst and witness. He dissected each piece of evidence, explaining the technical significance of every test result, every deviation, every ignored warning. They role-played the investigators' likely attacks, crafting bulletproof rebuttals anchored in cold, hard data. Linh helped Van structure a powerful narrative for his formal appeal – logical, unemotional, meticulously documented, systematically dismantling every accusation and shifting the blame squarely onto systemic failures and specific individuals' negligence.
"Look here, Van!" Linh pointed excitedly at her laptop screen, her eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt. "This email! Sent three days before the pour! You explicitly flagged concerns about the stability of Batch A-0723 to both Procurement and Technical! You specifically recommended either enhanced random sampling or restricting its use to non-load-bearing elements! This isn't just a note, it's a formal, documented warning! If they'd acted on this…"
"Exactly!" Van leaned over her shoulder, pointing to the terse reply from Procurement Manager. "And look at this response: 'Supplier provides firm guarantee of compliance. No further action deemed necessary at this stage.' And Technical? Radio silence. Proof positive that I raised the flag, and management chose to ignore it!" The validation was a balm.
"This is gold!" Linh exclaimed, punching the air softly. "And Dũng! He was the one championing this supplier! His signature is all over the initial approval docs! He's knee-deep in this! We need to find the smoking gun – the kickbacks, the inflated invoices, something tying him financially to this mess!" Her eyes gleamed with determination.
They worked late into the night, fueled by Linh's thermos of strong Vietnamese coffee and a shared sense of purpose. The dim light from the desk lamp cast long shadows on the walls, illuminating their focused faces. The city sounds outside faded into a distant hum. Occasionally, their hands brushed reaching for the same document, or their shoulders touched as they peered at the screen – fleeting moments of connection that sent small jolts of warmth through Van, anchoring him amidst the storm. Linh's unwavering belief and practical support were his lifeline. Her presence transformed the cramped apartment from a place of despair to a fortress of resistance.
"Linh…" Van murmured, looking up from a complex test report to find her watching him, her expression a mix of fatigue and fierce resolve. "I… I don't know how to thank you enough. For believing in me. For… for all this." His voice was thick with emotion.
"Oh, stop it," Linh waved a dismissive hand, but a soft smile touched her lips, warming her tired eyes. "What are friends for? Besides, watching you take down these bullies is going to be incredibly satisfying!" Her playful defiance lifted his spirits.
Her smile, genuine and bright even in the dim light, momentarily dispelled the lingering shadows of doubt. Emboldened by the shared struggle and the late hour, Van reached across the cluttered table and gently covered her hand with his. Her skin was cool, her fingers slender.
Linh's hand tensed slightly under his touch, but she didn't pull away. She looked down, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, visible even in the low light. "We… we should probably focus," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the laptop. "Still… a lot to get through before morning…"
"Right," Van nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before reluctantly letting go, drawing strength from the simple contact. "Back to the evidence."
After two intense days, their fortress was complete. The appeal dossier was a formidable document – meticulously organized, logically structured, and devastatingly thorough. It didn't just clear Van; it launched a counter-offensive, pinpointing the root causes: the questionable selection and inadequate vetting of the supplier, the systemic failure of management to heed technical warnings, the likely negligence or complicity of specific individuals like Dũng, and the overarching culture that prioritized speed and cost over demonstrable quality and risk mitigation.
Monday morning, Van walked into the Investigation Team Lead's office with renewed purpose. The room was spacious, overlooking the bustling city, a stark contrast to his document room exile. The Lead, Mr. Tuan, sat behind a large, polished desk, looking up as Van entered.
"Sir," Van stated, his voice calm and resolute, placing the thick, neatly bound dossier on the gleaming surface. "This is my formal appeal and rebuttal to all allegations against me. The accusations are demonstrably false. This document provides comprehensive evidence proving my innocence, fulfilling all my duties as Material Specialist, and crucially, identifies the true causes of the incident and the parties responsible."
Mr. Tuan looked from the substantial dossier to Van's unwavering gaze. A flicker of surprise, perhaps respect, crossed his stern features. He picked up the dossier, feeling its weight, and flipped through the first few pages, noting the meticulous organization and clear presentation. He nodded slowly. "We will review this thoroughly, Mr. Nguyễn."
Days crawled by. The silence from the investigation was deafening. The atmosphere in the project office grew colder towards Van. Dũng, emboldened by the delay, made a show of his confidence. During lunch in the crowded canteen, he deliberately walked past Van's table, tray clattering noisily.
"Some people just can't accept reality," Dũng announced loudly enough for nearby tables to hear, a smirk twisting his lips. "Clutching at straws, drowning in paperwork. Face it, the game's over. Time to pack your bags and get out." He met Van's eyes, his gaze challenging, triumphant. Van kept his expression neutral, focusing on his food, but his knuckles whitened around his chopsticks. The gauntlet had been thrown down.
Just as the weight of silence and Dũng's taunts threatened to crush his resolve, his phone buzzed. An unknown Hanoi number flashed on the screen. Outside, the sky darkened again, promising another downpour. He answered, bracing himself.
"Van?" A calm, measured voice, seasoned with age and experience, came through the line.
"Speaking. Who is this?"
"Chen Qiming (Chen Qiming)."