The only reason Laura Wentworth, Richard’s wife, found out about my footage was pure accident… or fate, depending on how you look at it.
About a month after my injury, she contacted me requesting a “personal statement” about the incident for her insurance records. That sounded odd, but I was desperate for anyone to listen. So I called her back.
Her voice wasn’t cold; it was icy.
“Mr. Harlan,” she said—my last name sharp as glass—“I just need to understand what happened. Richard said you’re exaggerating.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
So he was lying directly to her too.
“I’m not exaggerating,” I said slowly. “Your husband was injured?” she asked.
“No. I was.”
“And why is that relevant?”
“Because I got injured saving him.”
Silence. A long one.
Then she asked the question that changed my life:
“Do you have proof?”
I don’t know what made me say yes. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that my medical bills were already wiping out my savings while the man whose life I saved was pretending I didn’t exist.
So I told her about the footage.
She didn’t even let me finish the call. She just said:
“I’m sending someone to pick up a copy. Do not send it through email.”
That “someone” turned out to be her divorce lawyer.
Because apparently she’d been trying to gather evidence of Richard’s negligence, infidelity, and reckless behavior for months—but everything she had was circumstantial. His attorneys kept burying it.
What she needed was something undeniable.
And my footage? It was perfect.
It showed Richard lying about a workplace injury.
It showed a dangerous safety violation at his own company.
It showed him dismissing responsibility for a worker he publicly claimed to “care about.”
I didn’t even realize the value of what I had until her lawyer made an offer.
He slid a paper across the table.
“We’d like to purchase rights to your recording. Strictly legally. With your consent.”
I expected a few thousand dollars at most.
But when I read the number, my vision blurred.
It was more than I made in two years.
“Why?” I whispered.
He smiled. “Because this video will be worth many times that in court.”
I signed.
Three weeks later, I got another call—this time from Wentworth Dynamics’ general counsel.
“Mr. Harlan… We need to discuss the video you provided to Mrs. Wentworth’s legal team.”
The panic in his voice was obvious.
And that’s when I knew:
The CEO—my “heroic” CEO—was about to pay a much, much higher price than workers’ comp.
The fallout didn’t happen overnight, but when it hit, it hit like a collapse of steel beams.
It started with a leaked court filing. Then press inquiries. Then the headlines:
“Wentworth CEO Accused of Lying About Workplace Incident.”
“New Footage Shows Company Attempted to Suppress Injury Record.”
“Whistleblower Video Could Shift Divorce Battle.”
My name wasn’t public—Laura’s lawyer kept me anonymous—but Richard knew exactly who had the footage.
He called me.
Not his assistant. Not his HR department.
He called me.
“Mark,” he said, voice strained, “let’s talk privately. Man to man.”
I should have hung up, but I let him speak.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” he continued. “This video is being used out of context. My wife is manipulating you.”
“No,” I said calmly. “Your company manipulated me. Your wife just paid me fairly.”
He exhaled sharply. “I can make this right. I can get you your workers’ comp. I can—”
“Too late.”
There was a long silence. Then he said the words that told me everything about the kind of man he really was:
“You owe me. I could have fired you for that camera. I protected you.”
My jaw tightened.
“You’re alive because of me,” I said. “And you repaid me by calling me a liar.”
Another silence. Then he hung up.
The next week, the board announced Richard was being placed on “administrative leave.” A polite way of saying they were forcing him out before the stock price cratered.
A month later, Laura finalized her divorce. The settlement amount was leaked: eight figures.
Her lawyer had been right—the video was devastating.
As for me?
Workers’ comp finally approved my claim—miraculously, immediately—after months of denial. But by then, I didn’t need it. Laura’s payment had covered my medical bills, my living expenses, and gave me a cushion I never imagined I’d have.
But the biggest surprise came later.
Wentworth Dynamics contacted me again—not with threats this time, but with an offer.
They wanted me back.
As “Head of Safety Compliance.”
I laughed so hard I had to mute the phone.
After everything they put me through, they wanted me to fix their image.
I declined.
Instead, I used part of the settlement money to start a consulting service helping injured workers fight corporate stonewalling. Small cases at first, then bigger ones. My story spread. People trusted me because I had lived it.
Saving the CEO’s life nearly ruined mine.
But exposing the truth?
That saved a lot more than one person.
