“And if Grant expects us to go there?”
“He will have someone waiting.”
“Good,” Blake said.
“People make mistakes when they think the trap belongs to them.”
He changed into a spare maintenance uniform, left the executive floor through the service elevator, and pushed his cleaning cart toward the basement as if nothing had happened.
On the thirty-second floor, a man in an expensive blue suit entered the elevator.
Blake recognized him from the photographs in Darlene’s file.
His name was Colin Mercer, Grant’s personal assistant.
Colin looked at the cart, then at Blake’s badge.
“Rough morning upstairs?”
Blake kept his eyes on the floor indicator.
“I clean what they tell me to clean.”
“Mrs.
Stanley offered you money.”
It was not a question.
Blake shrugged.
“Not enough.”
Colin smiled.
“Mr.
Stanley appreciates practical people.
Meet me in the west parking garage after the board meeting.
Bring anything Darlene gave you, and your financial problems disappear.”
“How far disappear?”
“Far enough that your daughter never waits for an insurance approval again.”
The elevator opened at the lobby.
Colin stepped out, then turned.
“Do not make the mistake of believing Darlene cares about you.
Powerful people only notice workers when they need someone disposable.”
The doors closed.
Blake descended to the basement.
The North Archive corridor was empty, but a strip of clear tape had been placed across the frame of room B-19.
Anyone opening the door would break it.
Blake photographed the tape, then took a thin utility blade from his cart.
He loosened one end without tearing it and entered.
The room smelled of paper and dust.
Metal shelves reached almost to the ceiling.
Box B-19 contained old fleet invoices, garage access logs, and service reports.
The original brake-control record was missing.
In its place sat a red flash drive.
Blake did not touch it.
A flash drive left in an obvious location was either bait or malware.
He photographed it and searched the box more carefully.
Beneath the cardboard liner, he found a carbon copy of a work order signed by Leonard Voss.
The order authorized a diagnostic test on Darlene’s vehicle.
The approval line carried Grant Stanley’s electronic signature.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Blake replaced the liner, closed the box, and moved behind the shelving.
Leonard entered with Colin.
“The tape was moved,” Leonard whispered.
“Then he has been here,” Colin said.
Leonard opened the box and saw the flash drive.
“He didn’t take it.”
“Maybe he is smarter than Grant thinks.”
“What do we do?”
Colin’s answer was quiet.
