Thomas spoke first. "Last night you submitted a request for an executive security investigation into David Brooks. I need to understand the business justification."
"He's a potential threat to me."
George lifted his eyes. "How has he threatened you?"
"He lives across the street. We've had confrontations. He humiliated me at a homeowners association meeting."
"What did he actually do?" George asked.
"He showed a recording without my permission."
"A recording made on his own property?" Thomas asked.
Clare's jaw tightened. "He turned the entire neighborhood against me."
"That isn't an answer," Thomas said. "Company investigators are not available to settle private disputes between neighbors."
Clare looked toward her father, expecting him to defend the family name. Instead, George rested one hand on his cane and asked quietly, "What started the dispute?"
She described seeing a stranger beside an expensive car, feeling suspicious, and calling police. George listened without interruption until she admitted that the registration and deed had been confirmed in David's name. Then he leaned forward, and the disappointment on his face made her stomach tighten.
"You called the police on a man standing beside his own vehicle at his own home?"
"I didn't know it belonged to him."
"Did you ask him?"
"He said it was his."
"And you didn't believe him."
"Dad, you weren't there. He didn't look like—"
She stopped. George waited for her to finish, but she could not make herself speak the rest. Thomas looked down at his notes, and Rachel entered quietly to take a seat near the door.
"Like what?" George asked.
"Nothing."
"Then we should be careful what we call nothing," he said.
Thomas opened the first folder. "There is also the question of how you described him in your security request. You selected categories for financial misrepresentation, unknown assets, and potential professional misconduct. Do you have a factual basis for any of those claims?"
Clare avoided his eyes. "Nobody knows where his money comes from."
"Not knowing something isn't evidence of wrongdoing," Thomas replied. "Particularly when the person is a private citizen whose affairs you had no reason to investigate."
Clare folded her arms. "So discipline me. Write me a warning. Why drag my father downtown?"
George answered before Thomas could. "Because of the name you entered into the system."
"David Brooks?"
"Yes."
She looked from one face to another. "You know him."
George did not answer immediately. He asked how old David was, then asked for a description. Clare told him about the broad shoulders, short hair graying at the temples, faded jacket, and quiet manner. As she spoke, George's hand tightened around the handle of his cane.
"It could be someone else," he said, though his voice no longer sounded convinced.
"Who could be someone else?" Clare demanded.
A knock interrupted them. An assistant entered carrying a small leather document case that had arrived from outside counsel. Thomas accepted it, checked the seal, and opened it on the table. Inside were several papers and a set of archival keys attached to a battered brass compass.
Clare saw the engraving before she saw anything else. "That," she said.
George turned. "What?"
"The compass. David had one exactly like it on his key ring. I saw it when he was standing beside the car."
George stood more quickly than she had seen him move in years. He crossed to Thomas, lifted the compass, and traced the worn edge with his thumb. The object was old, but his expression suggested that he would have recognized it among a thousand similar pieces of brass.