Chương 9
Nothing exploded.
The office remained disappointingly normal.
The vacuum cleaner reached our hallway.
Luis had left a note on the broken printer that read, DO NOT BELIEVE ITS LIES.
I packed my laptop.
On the subway home, Adrian's messages remained unanswered.
That bothered me.
Not because I owed him anything.
Because I was becoming aware of the exact effort required not to answer.
At home, I heated soup and ate half of it standing at the counter.
Preston's note remained inside the junk drawer.
I opened the drawer once to find a battery.
The folded page was right there beside old takeout menus and three pens that did not work.
I closed it without touching anything.
At nine forty-two, Mara called.
"Your memo is aggressive."
"Good aggressive?"
"Career-ending aggressive."
"So, good?"
"I changed two adjectives."
"Which ones?"
"'Unsupported' became 'unreconciled.'"
"Coward."
"'Misleading' became 'potentially incomplete.'"
"Absolute coward."
"I enjoy paying rent."
She paused.
"The substance stays."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
I heard typing.
"There's another problem."
"What?"
"The internal workbook Diane sent has metadata."
I sat down.
"What kind?"
"Author history."
My pulse changed.
"Martin?"
"No."
I waited.
Mara said, "Eleanor Sterling."
For several seconds, I heard only the refrigerator humming.
"Adrian's sister?"
"Unless Sterling Capital employs another Eleanor Sterling who likes complicated spreadsheets."
"What did she do?"
"I'm still looking."
"Send me the file."
"Already did."
I opened my laptop on the kitchen table.
The workbook appeared in my inbox.
Under document properties, the original author field listed Eleanor R. Sterling.
The file had been created almost two years earlier.
Its most recent modification came from someone in Sterling Capital's operating group.
I opened the hidden sheets.
Nothing dramatic appeared.
No confession.
No secret note.
Just older staffing analyses, location-level turnover, contractor spend, and a series of comments from an internal review.
Then I found one.
The comment sat beside a projected hiring assumption.
ER Sterling: This recovery estimate has no operating basis.
A response beneath it came from M. Hale.
We are using management's case pending confirmation.
Another comment farther down.
ER Sterling: Management's case has failed three prior quarters.
Then Hale again.
Discuss offline.
I read the exchange twice.
"Mara."
"I'm here."
"She flagged this."
"Looks like it."
"When?"
"Fourteen months ago."
"Before Sterling bought the thirty-eight percent?"
"Depends on the exact closing date."
I searched the deal materials we had been given.
The minority investment had closed eleven months earlier.
Three months after Eleanor's comments.
My stomach tightened.
"Why would Adrian's sister be modeling Bellwether?"
"Maybe she worked there."
"At Sterling?"
"I don't know."
I searched the firm's public leadership page.
Eleanor was not listed.
Then I searched more broadly.
An old industry article appeared.
Eleanor Sterling, former managing director at Sterling Capital, had left the firm thirteen months earlier.
The timing sat on the screen like a raised hand.
"Mara."
"I found it too."
"She left right after the Bellwether investment."
"Apparently."
"That cannot be unrelated."
"It can."
"You don't believe that."
"I believe lawyers charge by the hour and we currently know almost nothing."
I rubbed my eyes.
"Why did Diane send us this workbook?"
"Maybe she didn't know the metadata was there."
"Or maybe she did."
"Do not invent conspiracies because you're tired."
"I'm not inventing one."
"You are standing on the porch of one."
I leaned back.
"Thursday is going to be interesting."
"Thursday is going to be boring."
"What?"
"We are consultants."
"Yes."
"We will walk into that room, discuss workforce assumptions, use words like reconciliation and normalized utilization, and behave as though none of these people have family histories."
"That sounds impossible."
"It is the job."
After we hung up, I opened Adrian's messages again.
I almost asked him about Eleanor.
Then I stopped.
Anything he told me privately could complicate our work.
Anything I asked could look like I was using personal access to influence a professional situation.
The sensible choice was obvious.
I hated the sensible choice.
I wrote nothing.
Wednesday passed almost entirely in spreadsheets.
That was deliberate.
Mara and I refined the memo, added source notes, and built a table showing exactly where Bellwether's current staffing contradicted the acquisition model.
By late afternoon, the numbers were unpleasant but defensible.
At four twenty, Diane called.
She did not sound pleased.
"I've read your memo."
I put her on speaker so Mara could hear.
"Okay."
"You understand that recommending a pause at this stage is significant."
"Yes."
"We've spent eight months on this."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
Her voice remained calm, which made the question sharper.
"Our investment committee is meeting next week."
Mara scribbled something on a legal pad and pushed it toward me.
Don't apologize.
I ignored her because I had not planned to.
"The timing doesn't change the staffing data."
"No."
Diane sighed.
"The problem is that your conclusion assumes the internal figures are more reliable than management's current forecast."
"They're actuals."
"Some are."
"Contractor spend is actual."
"Yes."
"Vacancy data is actual."
"Mostly."
I caught the qualification.
"Mostly?"
A pause.
"We'll discuss it tomorrow."
"Diane, if some of the vacancy data is estimated, we need to know before the meeting."
"I know."
"Then tell me now."
Mara looked up.
Diane went silent long enough that I wondered if the call had dropped.
Finally, she said, "Some regions did not report vacancies consistently."
"How many?"
"Four."
"Out of?"
"Seventeen."
"That's material."
"I know."
"Was that disclosed in the investment memorandum?"
Another pause.
"No."
Mara mouthed a profanity.
I looked at the ceiling.
"Who knew?"
"Tomorrow, Eve."
"Diane."
Her voice hardened.
"Tomorrow."
Then she ended the call.
I lowered the phone.
Mara stared at it.
"Well."
"That was bad."
"That was definitely not boring."
Five minutes later, my personal phone buzzed.
Adrian.
Are you still in the office?
I looked at Mara.
She looked back.
"Don't."
"I haven't done anything."
"Your face is doing something."
I opened the message.
I replied, Yes.
His next text came immediately.
May you like
Can I call?
I should have said no.
