Clare pushed the papers away. "He recognized my last name the moment I said it. He could have told me."
David leaned forward slightly. "I gave you my name. I told you the car was mine. I told you I had bought the house, and I offered to show you the registration. I answered the questions that mattered."
"You could have told me you controlled Whitmore Mobility."
"Why would that have mattered?"
The question stopped her. David waited, genuinely interested in the answer rather than eager to trap her. She tried to explain that the information would have changed her understanding of the situation, but the words assembled themselves into an admission she did not want to make.
"If I'd told you I owned fifty-two percent," he asked, "would you have believed the Ferrari was mine?"
Clare said nothing.
"Would you have believed I owned the house? Would you have allowed me to retrieve the registration without calling the police?"
She looked down at the table. David's voice remained steady.
"That's the problem, Clare. A stranger standing in his own driveway shouldn't have to prove he owns your family's company before you'll treat him with basic respect."
George lowered his eyes. Thomas let the silence settle before moving the discussion back to its immediate purpose. "We need to address the executive security request."
Rachel connected her tablet to the wall display. The original form appeared with its date, time, requesting account, subject name, and the categories Clare had selected. Clare's own wording filled the screen: potential threat to executive family member; possible financial misrepresentation; investigate assets, employment history, litigation, business affiliations, and corporate relationships.
"Had the request proceeded normally," Rachel explained, "company investigators would have been authorized to examine a private individual's affairs based on the requesting executive's unsupported assessment. In this case, the protected record designation stopped the process before the investigative assignment was issued."
Thomas looked directly at Clare. "In practical terms, you ordered Mr. Brooks's own company to investigate him because you were angry about an incident in your neighborhood."
Nobody laughed. Clare almost wished someone would; laughter would have been easier to fight than the silence that followed. She stared at the display, realizing that her professional language sounded harsher when read aloud in the presence of the person it had targeted.
"I thought he had humiliated me," she said.
"I showed the complete recording," David replied. "You had already circulated an edited version that made me look dangerous."
"You knew what the full version would do to my reputation."
"I knew what the partial version was doing to mine."
Clare looked away. Then, almost in defiance of herself, she asked him to admit he was enjoying the situation. David's expression tightened for the first time that morning.
"I know what humiliation feels like," he said. "I felt it when the police came to my driveway. I felt it when neighbors watched without speaking. And I felt it when twenty-seven people sat through a presentation describing me as a threat. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, including you."
George watched him carefully. He had seen David angry in negotiations, particularly when a proposal threatened employees who had no control over the decisions being made. This was a quieter anger, held in place by a determination not to become the sort of person who used power merely because he possessed it.
"So what happens to me?" Clare asked.