"You signed it knowing that it wasn't accurate," Rory said. Her tone was firm rather than angry. "That is serious, Silas. You need independent legal advice before you make any further statement about it."
"I know."
He sat down at last. His hands were shaking, and he tucked them beneath the conference table to hide them. For nine years he had managed Summit's financial reporting, negotiated credit facilities, and provided Warren with numbers that allowed the CEO to present the company as a success despite shrinking margins. He had told himself that keeping the business open justified uncomfortable compromises, and then he had stopped noticing how frequently those compromises required someone else to absorb the cost.
"He has records of things I approved," Silas said. "Payments, classification decisions, vendor changes. Some of them I knew were questionable, and some I should have examined harder. He says if I don't stand with him, he'll make certain I take the blame."
"You might still have to answer for what you did," Daniel replied. "I'm not promising otherwise. But lying again won't make the first lie safer."
Silas lifted his eyes. "You'll help me get counsel?"
"We can connect you with independent counsel and make sure you're not coerced into a statement," Rory said. "The company cannot give you immunity or purchase testimony. The decision about what you say next has to be yours."
He nodded, seeming simultaneously relieved and terrified. Before he could explain more, his phone buzzed with a message from Warren's assistant asking where he was and ordering him back upstairs. Silas read it, went visibly pale, and stood. "I need a little time," he said. "Please. I know how this looks."
Daniel let him leave. The door closed, and Rory remained silent for a moment. She had met enough frightened executives to know that fear did not automatically produce honesty. She also understood that the most useful evidence often arrived when someone who had helped maintain a system finally admitted it existed.
"Do you believe him?" Daniel asked.
"I believe he's afraid," Rory answered. "Whether he tells the truth is still his decision."
At five that afternoon, Silas returned to Rory's temporary office carrying a small flash drive. He looked as though the intervening hours had aged him ten years. Rather than hand it over immediately, he placed it on the table and kept one finger pressed to the plastic. "Eight years ago," he said, "Warren asked me to design a visitor risk profile. I was told it would streamline security checks and prevent credential fraud."
"What did it actually measure?" Rory asked.
"Names. Photographs. Places of origin. Some employment categories. Scores were assigned according to rules Warren reviewed personally."
Rory looked at him. "Were those rules connected to any verified security risk?"
Silas shook his head. "No evidence-based assessment. It was a system for deciding who looked as though they belonged."
The spreadsheet contained thousands of entries, with a high-risk flag labeled P among its right-hand columns. Silas explained that guards used the flag to demand extra identification, delay meetings, redirect visitors to service doors, and record unsuccessful admissions as security concerns. At first the system had affected only the lobby; eventually its scores were copied into the vendor qualification process. Certain suppliers were removed from invitation lists or given disadvantages before their technical bids were even opened.