"Neither do I," Daniel replied. "That's why we have to learn what happened before we decide how to fix it. Keeping the truth buried won't protect those jobs forever."
Rory photographed every page using a controlled process and uploaded encrypted copies to her firm's evidence system. She documented the source and condition of the original rather than claiming the notebook was automatically conclusive proof of every entry. Therese kept possession of the physical book until it could be formally inventoried, while Rory created a secured working copy for comparison with access logs and visitor records. They agreed that names of harmed visitors would be protected from unnecessary public exposure.
Then Daniel reached into his coat and took out the two halves of his badge. The damage was obvious under the conference-room light: the plastic had split through his photograph, leaving the embedded chip visible along the broken edge. Rory placed the pieces into a labeled evidence envelope, photographed them, and made a note of when Daniel had recovered them from the waste bin. The damaged credential had become a physical record of the moment Warren tried to turn a verified visitor into an outsider by force of personality.
"The scanner knows what happened," Rory said. "It recorded a valid read at 8:51 and an administrative override at 8:52. The video shows who gave the order, and the access records identify the account used to enter it. If the court or investigators require independent verification, the system and credential can be examined together."
Daniel watched her seal the envelope. "He broke the badge because he thought it was the only proof I had."
"He broke the badge in front of a camera system he was proud of," Rory replied. "That may prove to be his most expensive mistake."
Her phone rang. She listened, asked one question, and wrote something on a legal pad. When she hung up, she told them a colleague had seen attorneys representing Warren entering the courthouse records office that afternoon. An emergency civil filing was being prepared, likely aimed at Daniel's share acquisition or the board appointment. Warren, it appeared, had no intention of accepting even the limited setback he had suffered.
"By morning," Rory said, "we may be answering a lawsuit rather than a personnel dispute."
Therese looked down at the notebook. "Could he take this away from me?"
"He can try," Rory said. "But the record is preserved, and you don't have to carry it alone anymore."
They left the building after nine. At the edge of the lobby, Daniel stopped beside the steel waste bin where Warren had dropped his badge. Its polished surface reflected the overhead lights, indifferent to what had happened there. Daniel looked at it for a long moment, remembering Warren's words about belonging, then followed Rory and Therese out into the cold evening.
He had purchased fifty-four percent of Summit Dynamics because he believed its business could be repaired. After one day, he was no longer sure whether business repairs would be the hardest part. Far above the empty lobby, Warren Ashdown was still in his office making calls, convinced he had found a legal way to preserve the only thing he truly valued: the chair with his name attached to it.