Chương 6
“No.”
“Cameras are at the front.”
“I can see them.”
“Your face is evidence and a headline. You don’t owe anyone a photograph.”
Helena looked through the revolving doors. Microphones lifted when reporters saw her.
“If I leave underground, Vivian will say I’m hiding.”
“Vivian will say something regardless.”
Helena put on her coat.
She walked through the doors.
Questions struck from every direction.
“Ms. Graves, did Adrian Locke assault you?”
“Were you negotiating a payment?”
“Did you threaten to expose company secrets?”
“Are you cooperating with authorities?”
“Did you advise the Northwind settlement?”
Helena stopped at the edge of the steps. Dana stood one pace behind her.
The prepared response would have been simple: I cannot comment on an active investigation. She had used that sentence for years.
Instead, she looked at the cameras and said, “An incident occurred last night. I gave a statement to law enforcement. I will cooperate with every lawful review of my conduct and the company’s conduct. I have nothing further to say today.”
A reporter shouted, “Did you make mistakes?”
Helena paused.
“Yes,” she said.
Dana opened the car door before anyone could ask which ones.
By afternoon, that single word appeared in headlines without the question that had produced it.
LOCKE LAWYER ADMITS MISTAKES.
HELENA GRAVES CONCEDES ROLE IN SHIPPING SCANDAL.
ATTORNEY AT CENTER OF LOCKE FAMILY DISPUTE SAYS “YES.”
Mara read them aloud from Helena’s sofa until Helena took the tablet away.
“You’re enjoying this,” Helena said.
“I’m documenting how stupid everyone is.”
“That is an unlimited project.”
Mara went to the kitchen and opened cabinets without asking. She found lentils, rice, three kinds of tea, and nothing that could become dinner quickly.
“You live like someone expecting a grocery store to apologize and move closer.”
“I order food.”
“You forget to order food.”
“I remembered yesterday.”
“You ate at the Lockes’ house?”
“No.”
Mara turned from the cabinet. “You went to a dinner where you expected evidence and ate nothing?”
“There was soup.”
“Did you eat it?”
“Adrian arrived during the first course.”
“So no.”
Helena sat near the window. The security vehicle remained outside. A second car had appeared across the street, probably a reporter. Neighbors pretended not to look while walking dogs.
Her work phone was gone. Her personal inbox contained messages from law school classmates, former colleagues, clients, and strangers. Some expressed support. Others asked whether their communications with her were secure. One client requested immediate transfer of all files. An old partner wrote, I always worried the Locke relationship blurred your independence.
Helena deleted that message, restored it, then deleted it again.
At five twelve, an unknown number called the temporary phone.
She almost ignored it.
“Ms. Graves?” a man said. “It’s Mateo Ruiz.”
Helena stood.
Mara looked over from the stove.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Are you safe?”
A pause.
“No.”
His voice sounded thinner than she remembered. In meetings, Mateo spoke quickly and used his hands as though arranging invisible parts. Now each word arrived alone.
“I saw the news,” he said. “They’re saying the reports were fake.”
“Independent investigators need to speak with you.”
“I tried that.”
“You stopped responding.”
“My supervisor found out. He told me I’d be transferred to a ship registered overseas. Six months, maybe longer. My wife was pregnant.”
Helena closed her eyes.
“I should have done more to protect you.”
“You said you couldn’t promise.”
“I know what I said.”
“You said the company would preserve my identity as far as possible.”
“And someone disclosed it.”
“Yes.”
Mara lowered the stove flame and left the kitchen.
Helena asked, “Do you still have the original records?”
“Not the maintenance sheets.”
“What do you have?”
“A drive image from the planning terminal. Before the migration.”
“Where?”
“Not with me.”
“Mateo, I am on leave. I cannot act as company counsel.”
“That’s why I called.”
Helena walked to the window. The car across the street remained dark.
“Do you have your own attorney?”
“No.”
“I can refer you to one.”
“Will they believe me?”
“That depends on the evidence.”
“You didn’t.”
The sentence landed quietly.
Helena looked at her reflection in the glass. The bandage appeared white against the darkening room.
“I believed there was a problem,” she said.
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
Mateo breathed into the phone.
“My wife left this morning,” he said. “She took our daughter to her sister’s. Someone followed her from daycare yesterday.”
“Did she call the police?”
“She doesn’t want police. Her brother has immigration issues.”
Helena chose her next words carefully.
“Do not tell me where the drive is. Not on this phone. I will contact independent counsel and arrange a lawyer for you who does not represent Locke Meridian. You decide what to provide after you receive advice.”
“You could just give me the name.”
“I could.”
“But?”
“But if the company is monitoring people around you, a name may not be enough. You need transportation, a safe meeting place, and confirmation that whoever contacts you is real.”
Mateo was silent.
Helena heard a vending machine hum somewhere near him.
“I’m at a bus station,” he said.
“You said you couldn’t tell me where.”
“I changed my mind.”
She almost told him not to. Instead, she took a pen from the side table.
He gave her the name of a town ninety miles south.
Dana arranged the retrieval through independent counsel, not through Locke Meridian. Two hours later, a local attorney named Rachel Sloane met Mateo in a diner near the station. Dana confirmed his identity by video, then sent a separate vehicle for his wife and daughter after the wife agreed.
Helena remained at home because she had no authority to participate and because Dana told her, “Helping does not mean placing yourself in the center.”
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At midnight, Rachel called.
“Mr. Ruiz is safe for tonight,” she said. “He has not turned over any evidence. He wants a written agreement concerning his employment, immigration consequences for family members, and protection against retaliation.”
