The answer was waiting in the metadata. Adrian Voss's office had prepared the summaries, and Marcus Reed had approved the financial descriptions. Victoria felt herself resisting the conclusion because she had worked with both men for years. Adrian had helped negotiate a difficult merger. Marcus had stayed through a recession that nearly forced layoffs. There had been late nights, shared meals after failed presentations, and discussions of family problems in which she had trusted them as people rather than merely as executives.
"We need to interview the complainants," Frances said. "And they need protection against retaliation."
"Of course," Victoria replied.
Frances looked at her. "Not of course. Put it in writing. Right now."
By afternoon, a notice went to employees explaining that an independent review was underway, that relevant records must be preserved, and that no one was permitted to punish staff for providing truthful information. It said the review had not reached conclusions about misconduct. It did not identify Daniel or suggest that the company already knew who was guilty. Victoria signed it herself, remembering how easy it had been to sign a different document at an airport without asking enough questions.
In a warehouse outside Joliet, Luis Ramirez received the notice on a shared terminal. He stared at the message, then called Priya. "You think it's real?"
"I don't know," she said. "But Frances Wu's name is on it. That's different."
"Daniel got fired for asking the same questions."
"I know."
"Then why should I trust this one?"
Priya did not have a comforting answer. She had watched two good employees leave after their complaints were dismissed as negative attitudes. She had a mortgage and a father whose medication depended on her insurance. Courage was easier to admire in a story than to practice when the rent came due every month. But she also remembered Daniel sitting beside her desk after hours, patiently tracing an error that would have left a customer without a promised shipment.
"I'm going to tell them what I saw," she said. "You decide for yourself."
That evening Priya wrote a nine-page statement with the dates of the invoices she had reviewed, the people she had contacted, and the responses she had received. She was careful to say what she knew and what she only suspected. When she finished, she read it once, corrected two numbers, and pressed send. Then she sat in her parked car for several minutes with both hands around the steering wheel, wondering whether she had just made it impossible to keep her job.
A thousand miles away, Noah was trying to convince Daniel that a spacecraft made from cardboard, tape, and two empty cereal boxes could survive reentry into Earth's atmosphere. It was the last evening of their Denver visit. Hannah sat at the kitchen table grading papers while Daniel cut a small hole in a plastic cup to make what Noah called the command module.
"Your astronaut would need heat shielding," Daniel said.
"It has it."
"Where?"
Noah pointed to an enthusiastic layer of blue glitter. "There."
"Excellent engineering," Hannah said without looking up. "No notes."