For ten years, Elias had climbed the same rickety wooden ladder at the warehouse. It was a company relic, its sides scarred and its rungs groaning under the weight of time. Everyone knew it was damaged. A long, hairline crack ran up one side, and the bottom rung was patched with a mismatched piece of pine. They’d all complained, but the foreman just shrugged. "The budget's tight. It still works, doesn't it?"So, Elias used it. Every day, he’d test his weight cautiously, a little dance of distrust before ascending to stack boxes or check high shelves. The groans of the