Chương 6
Maya placed the tablet on his desk.
“Because he sent the request before he died.”
Daniel stared at the screen.
There was an email.
The account was Ethan’s.
The date was six months before his death.
Daniel read the message twice.
I think Daniel needs to know what happened.
Nothing more.
No details.
No explanation.
Just a sentence that had waited four years to reach him.
“You opened this?”
Maya nodded.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because the request was attached to a company archive file that had been hidden from normal access.”
“That doesn’t answer why.”
Maya looked down.
“Because Ethan’s name was on it.”
The room became quiet.
Daniel hated that.
Quiet always gave memories room to return.
He remembered Ethan sitting at their mother’s kitchen table years ago, tapping a spoon against a coffee mug while arguing that Daniel cared too much about being respected.
“You don’t have to be useful every second,” Ethan had said.
Daniel had laughed.
“That’s easy for someone who doesn’t have responsibilities.”
Ethan had looked hurt.
Daniel remembered that part clearly.
Not the argument.
Not the words.
The moment after.
The way his brother stopped fighting.
The way some people did when they realized they were losing a conversation they did not want to win.
“What did you find?” Daniel asked.
Maya took a breath.
“There are missing pages from the original investigation.”
“Missing?”
“Removed.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel looked at the paper in his hand.
The answer seemed obvious.
But obvious things were dangerous.
They made people act before they understood.
“Did anyone else see this?”
Maya shook her head.
“Only me.”
“That’s not good.”
“I know.”
“No, Maya.”
He placed the paper down.
“That’s not what I mean.”
She frowned.
“Then what do you mean?”
“If this is real, whoever removed those files knew exactly what they were doing.”
Maya crossed her arms.
“And?”
“And people who hide things don’t usually stop hiding them because someone asks politely.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Maya said quietly, “You think someone is threatening us?”
Daniel looked through the glass wall of his office.
A group of workers passed by carrying materials.
One of them waved at him.
Daniel lifted his hand automatically.
The worker smiled and kept walking.
That small interaction felt strangely painful.
People trusted him.
People thought they knew him.
“I think,” Daniel said slowly, “that I don’t know what happened twelve years ago.”
Maya studied him.
“You really don’t?”
The question landed harder than he expected.
Not because she accused him.
Because she sounded like she wanted to believe him.
“I signed a lot of things.”
“That isn’t an answer either.”
Daniel sat down.
For the first time that morning, he looked tired.
Not professionally tired.
Not the kind of tired that disappeared after sleep.
The other kind.
The kind that came from carrying something without knowing its name.
“I remember the accident,” he said.
Maya waited.
“I remember the injured workers.”
He paused.
“I remember feeling relieved that nobody died.”
His voice became quieter.
“And I hate that I remember it that way.”
Maya did not interrupt.
“I spent years telling myself that we handled it. That we learned from it. That everything afterward proved it was the right outcome.”
He touched the document.
“But if this is true, then maybe I wasn’t fixing anything.”
The office phone rang.
Neither of them moved.
It rang again.
Maya glanced at it.
“Are you going to answer?”
Daniel watched the phone.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because right now I’m afraid it’s someone who knows I found this.”
Maya looked at him.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said today.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Almost.
The phone stopped.
A few seconds later, his computer screen lit up with a new email notification.
Maya noticed.
Daniel noticed her noticing.
Neither of them wanted to open it.
That was the strange thing about fear.
People imagined fear made you run.
Sometimes it made you sit perfectly still.
The email had no subject line.
No message.
Only an attachment.
Daniel clicked it.
A photograph appeared.
It showed the old warehouse floor from twelve years earlier.
The night of the accident.
Daniel leaned closer.
Maya whispered something he did not hear.
Because he was staring at the corner of the image.
A person stood near the damaged machine.
Someone who was not supposed to have been there.
Someone Daniel recognized.
His own face was not what frightened him.
It was the person standing beside him.
His brother Ethan.
Alive.
And looking directly at the camera.
Daniel did not move for several seconds.
The photograph remained on the screen, frozen in a moment that should have been impossible.
Maya leaned closer, but she did not touch the keyboard.
“Is that him?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“Your brother?”
Daniel nodded once.
The word felt heavier than it should have.
“Yes.”
Maya looked at the photograph again.
The person beside Ethan was partially hidden by the damaged machine, but there was no mistaking him.
Daniel remembered that jacket.
Dark blue canvas.
A torn sleeve near the wrist.
Ethan had worn it constantly that winter because he said every other jacket made him look like he was trying too hard.
Daniel had made fun of him for it.
“You look like a mechanic who lost a fight with a closet.”
Ethan had laughed.
“Good.”
“That’s your defense?”
“It means nobody expects anything from me.”
At the time, Daniel thought it was just another strange thing his brother said.
Now it felt like a sentence he had ignored.
Maya pointed at the screen.
“Why would Ethan be there?”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
The question had no place to go.
Ethan had never worked at Northline.
He had never been listed as a contractor.
He had never been mentioned in any report Daniel had seen.
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Maya watched his face.
“That’s becoming a dangerous phrase today.”
