Chapter 39
Private Counsel
Priya refused to let Mara go to the Eastgate facility. She said it in the tone she used for court orders and boiling water: not a judgment, a fact. The storage complex sat in Queens behind a chain-link fence, and Greta Lorne's badge had pinged at its gate forty minutes earlier.
"The special-master request is pending," Priya said. "If you go now, Harker will call it self-help."
"If Greta destroys records, they will call it unfortunate."
"Then we call the police and preserve the camera footage. You do not become the story they want."
Mara knew Priya was right. Knowing it did not quiet the urge to drive across the bridge and put her own hands on the metal door. Her grandmother's account, her father's name, Adrian's mother, Julian's old silence—everything had narrowed to a unit with a numbered lock.
Julian called while she stood in Priya's office. "Imani has confirmed Greta's company card was charged at Eastgate yesterday. I can have security—"
"No Meridian security," Mara said. "Rainer ran it."
"I was going to say I can have Imani provide the access logs to police."
She closed her eyes. "Do that."
"Mara, there is something else. My father kept a private counsel file. I found a reference to Eastgate in it after the calendar surfaced."
"You found it when?"
"This morning. I gave it to Priya before calling you."
The answer prevented one anger and left another intact. "What does it say?"
"That Eleanor Ellison asked him to fund storage for 'materials requiring future independent review.' He refused. Felix funded it through a consultancy."
"So Felix controlled the lock on evidence that could destroy him."
"Yes."
Mara looked at Priya, who gave a single nod; the file had arrived. Julian had done the correct thing before seeking credit. It made her furious that this was how he reached her now—through choices she could verify.
Nia entered with a printout. "The workers went back to the line for today. But there is a condition. They want a public meeting before the city presentation, and they want Mara and Imani there. Not Julian."
"They have a right to that," Mara said.
Julian did not argue. "They do."
For a moment, she saw the cost in him: the company he had led asking for reassurance from everyone but him. It was not satisfying. Accountability rarely was. It simply changed who got to speak.
Priya's phone rang. She listened, face unreadable. Then she muted it.
"Police found Greta's car at Eastgate," she said. "The unit is open."
For a moment no one moved. Mara thought of Greta's empty chair, of the way a person could serve an institution so long that leaving it became only another assignment. If Greta was inside the unit, she might be destroying evidence. If she was not, the open door might be meant to draw Mara across a line Harker could use against her.
"We wait for the special master," Priya said. "I have requested police seal the site."
Adrian placed the privilege list on the desk. "My clients cannot have their personnel files released just because Harker has made them relevant."
"They won't," Priya said. "We will seek a protective order."
Julian's phone buzzed. He read the screen and passed it to Imani. "The city has postponed the renewal meeting until tomorrow. They want a written statement about the sale."
"Good," Nia said. "More time."
"More time for Harker to call us unstable," Julian replied.
Mara looked at him. "Then we do not issue a corporate reassurance. We issue a factual statement: no sale has been authorized, the alleged buyer has no mandate, and the employee trust is reviewing the records."
Imani nodded. "That is defensible."
"It is also not enough," Nia said. "Workers know companies can tell the truth in a sentence while hiding it in the room."
"Then the worker meeting happens," Mara said. "You chair it. Imani brings the contracts. Julian does not speak unless someone asks him a question."
Julian accepted the limit with a single nod. Mara saw how much it cost him and refused to make the cost a reason to spare him. A company that had been built around one family's voice could not be repaired by asking the same voice to be comforting.
"Is she inside?" Adrian asked from the doorway. He had arrived without fanfare, carrying a folder of privilege lists.
Priya looked at each of them before she answered.
"No. But there is someone else."
Mara gripped the desk. Daniel's name did not make the report true, but it made the past feel suddenly close enough to touch. Adrian did not reach for her. Julian did not offer an explanation. Their restraint gave her room to think.
"Is it a person, a file, or a message?" she asked.
"The officer cannot say on this line," Priya replied. "Only that the label is your father's."
Outside, traffic moved with its ordinary indifference. Mara remembered Daniel's stubborn hands over a set of papers, his refusal to let anyone hurry him. She would not let an unknown caller hurry her now.
On the speaker, an officer's voice said a name Mara had not heard in years.
"Daniel Ellison."
Mara took one measured breath. Whatever waited in that unit, she would meet it with counsel, witnesses, and a record that belonged to more than grief.