“Iris.”
She hung up.
The next morning, her desk was gone.
Not simply cleared.
Gone.
Derek Holt’s name sat where hers had been.
SPECIAL PROJECTS CONSULTANT.
Derek did not work for Sterling & Associates.
Apparently that distinction no longer mattered.
Iris found Claire.
“Where’s my workstation?”
Claire looked miserable.
“Fourth floor.”
“Storage?”
“Yes.”
“Who approved Derek?”
“I don’t know.”
“Claire.”
“I don’t.”
Claire whispered:
“Brennan said facilities had instructions.”
“From who?”
“Iris, please.”
“Please what?”
“I have two kids.”
The sentence answered everything.
Claire walked away.
The fourth floor held archived lease files, obsolete furniture, old marketing materials, and enough dust to make Iris sneeze twice before finding her laptop.
It sat on a folding table between shelving units.
Her notebook.
Pens.
Torn report.
No chair.
Iris turned over a plastic crate.
Sat.
Tried to log into the development drive.
ACCESS DENIED.
Acquisitions folder.
ACCESS DENIED.
Internal distribution lists.
Removed.
Email remained active.
Internet remained active.
Someone wanted her isolated, not officially terminated.
That distinction interested her.
At ten, Raymond Beck appeared.
He looked around.
“What the hell is this?”
“I was reassigned.”
“To records storage?”
“Apparently.”
“By Brennan?”
“Yes.”
Beck’s face reddened.
“I’m going to Philip.”
“Please don’t.”
He stared.
“Why?”
“I need a little longer.”
“For what?”
Iris hesitated.
Then said:
“I found something in the waterfront file.”
Beck became still.
“What?”
“I’m not ready.”
“Iris.”
“Please trust me.”
Beck studied her.
Then:
“One hour.”
“I need the afternoon.”
“One hour.”
“You sound like my father.”
He smiled faintly.
“Good man?”
“Annoying.”
“Afternoon.”
Then Beck left.
Iris rebuilt her research from public sources.
City planning database.
Environmental agency archives.
Property tax filings.
Brownfield registry.
Zoning-variance exhibits.
She compared parcel identifiers.
One number kept appearing incorrectly in the internal executive summary.
The environmental consultant’s clean-phase report referenced a parcel in Astoria.
Not Brooklyn.
Iris thought it was a typo.
Then she opened the PDF properties.
The report attached to Sterling’s acquisition package had been created from another file.
She found the public filing associated with the Astoria project.
Same language.
Same typographical mistake on page eleven.
Same table.
Same groundwater sample numbers.
That should not have been possible.
She searched for the Brooklyn parcel’s real environmental history.
There it was.
Old solvent storage.
Metal fabrication.
Prior industrial discharge.
Recorded contamination.
Required remediation review.
Potential cost: tens of millions.
Iris’s pulse accelerated.
This was not an intern problem.