She downloaded every public document.
Then checked an email attachment Brennan had sent widely enough that it remained in her inbox.
The environmental executive summary.
Document properties showed Brennan’s corporate user account as the last internal editor.
That did not prove he falsified the underlying study.
It proved he touched the document.
Important distinction.
Iris knew enough not to accuse beyond evidence.
She called Raymond Beck.
He came downstairs.
Read silently.
His face changed.
“This cannot be right.”
“I checked the parcel numbers four times.”
Beck checked himself.
Then whispered:
“Jesus.”
“The board presentation is tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Brennan is presenting environmental clearance.”
“Yes.”
Iris handed him the folder.
“Then we stop the acquisition.”
Beck looked at her.
“Who are you?”
The question came unexpectedly.
Iris could have lied.
She did not.
“Iris Irving.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She held his gaze.
“My father is Grant Irving.”
Beck’s face became blank.
Then understanding arrived.
He sat on a box.
“The Grant Irving?”
“Yes.”
Beck stared at the storage shelves.
“You’re the owner’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sitting on a plastic crate.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I need retirement.”
Iris almost laughed.
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe.”
“What does Grant know?”
“About Brennan’s behavior? Enough.”
“About this?”
“Not yet.”
Beck pointed at the files.
“You call him now.”
Iris did.
Grant listened.
This time, he did not argue about the internship.
He asked questions.
Parcel numbers.
Source.
Date.
Metadata.
Public records.
Possible closing timeline.
“Do not access anything you are not authorized to access,” he said.
“I haven’t.”
“Do not copy internal confidential material to a personal device.”
“I copied public records only.”
“Good.”
“What about the internal attachment?”
“It remains in my company email.”
“Leave it there.”
“I printed it.”
“Fine.”
Grant paused.
“I’m calling outside counsel.”
“Dad, the board meeting—”
“I’ll be there.”
“Philip will know.”
“That is no longer my main concern.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing dramatic.”
Iris laughed once.
“You sound dramatic.”
“Tomorrow you present what you found.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m an intern.”
Grant’s voice softened.
“You found it.”
That evening, Brennan spent two hours rehearsing the board presentation.
He had no idea anyone had identified the contamination problem.
He did know the environmental report was shaky.
Months earlier, the original due-diligence consultant had warned that historical industrial use required expanded testing.
Expanded testing could delay the acquisition.
Delay could jeopardize Brennan’s chance to lead the deal.
So he pushed.
Hard.
A junior project analyst summarized an older clean assessment for comparison.
Brennan reused parts.
Then more.
The line between careless shortcut and knowing falsification blurred over weeks.
When the outside consultant refused to sign a clean conclusion, Brennan removed their draft from the board packet and substituted an internal summary.
He told himself further testing could occur after closing.
He told himself contamination risk was probably overstated.
He told himself large deals always contained imperfect information.
Most importantly, he told himself results would protect him.