When the call ended, Darlene lowered herself into her chair.
The strain of standing had drained the color from her face.
Blake noticed the brace beneath her jacket shift out of position.
“The lower strap is twisted again,” he said.
She almost smiled.
“Apparently corporate power does not improve orthopedic design.”
Evelyn closed the office doors while Darlene adjusted the brace in a private washroom.
When she returned, she carried a smaller black folder.
Inside was the full account of the accident.
Three months earlier, Darlene’s car had lost braking power while descending an interstate ramp.
She had struck a concrete barrier at forty miles per hour.
The official inspection blamed a damaged hydraulic line, and the company released a statement saying she had escaped with minor injuries.
The truth was less convenient.
She had fractured two ribs, damaged three vertebrae, and temporarily lost strength in her left arm.
Her doctors believed she would recover, but the process required months of rehabilitation and a rigid brace.
“Why hide it from everyone?” Blake asked.
“I did not hide it from everyone.
My physician, Evelyn, and two members of the board knew.
But Grant began contacting investors before I was out of surgery.
He told them my judgment might be permanently impaired.
He offered himself as an interim replacement.”
Darlene placed the maintenance report beside the folder.
The report showed that her car’s electronic brake control module had been accessed at 11:42 p.m.
the night before the crash.
The technician identification belonged to Blake’s supervisor, Leonard Voss.
“Leonard manages janitorial staff,” Blake said.
“Why would he have access to the executive garage?”
“He worked in fleet maintenance before transferring departments,” Evelyn answered.
“Grant arranged the transfer two years ago.”
Blake studied the document.
The report was a printout, not the original digital record.
Someone had added handwritten notes in the margin, including a storage reference: B-19, North Archive.
“Where did you get this?”
“It appeared in my private mail slot yesterday,” Darlene said.
“No envelope, no fingerprints, and no camera footage.”
“Someone inside the building wants you to find the original.”
“Or wants me caught trying.”
The North Archive occupied part of the building’s basement.
It stored old contracts, maintenance records, and materials waiting for secure destruction.
Blake had cleaned the corridor many times.
He knew the cameras, the service elevators, and which doors failed to latch properly during humid weather.
Darlene opened another document.
It was a board resolution scheduled for a vote at noon.
Grant intended to suspend her authority, assume temporary control, and approve the sale of Stanley Medical Systems, the company’s most valuable subsidiary.
The buyer was a private investment group registered in Delaware.
Evelyn had traced the group through four shell companies.
The final beneficiary was a trust controlled by Grant.
“He is not only trying to remove me,” Darlene said.
“He plans to sell part of the company to himself at half its value.
Once the board votes, reversing the transaction could take years.”
Blake looked at the clock.
It was 9:18 a.m.
“Then we have less than three hours.”
Darlene pushed a temporary security credential toward him.
“That badge opens the North Archive.”
