xii. A burning room

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The large gulp of coffee, hot and bitter, brings tears to my eyes. When the sting subsides, I glance at the tall structure of glass and metal towering over my taxi, through the front window. My leg keeps bouncing as I wait for a reply—avoiding the taxi driver's annoyed eyes in the rear-view mirror. I quickly text again:

"What do I do? Do they have access yet?"

The answer comes within a second:

"Tech is standing by. Letterbox got called into a staff meeting. You know, he didn't plan to have to do this today. Give him a minute." 

I would swear that I had no intention to drink in the afternoon, but I have carried my new flask with me. The wait is painful, so I give in and pour some into my coffee. Two large gulps and I can't wait any longer.

"So do I lead them to him? I need to know now. He plans to round them up today which means he's going to start firing the suspects."

"Stall them. Don't direct them towards him until we have the data we need."

"How long?"

"Once they have access, it's a matter of minutes."

I toss my disposable coffee mug into the bin, pop a mint into my mouth, and walk towards the conference room. My heels make sharp clicking sounds against the black marble floors as I walk behind the receptionist, balancing the desired files on one arm.

The receptionist opens the door for me and steps aside. I have to hold back a gasp when I find an AFD politician—elected twice by a Bex county—standing next to Wayne.

"There she is." Wayne grins, coming forward. I hold out the files and his fingers curve over mine, gently brushing against them as he takes the files from me. "Nigel, this is London from the Reverent."

"It's great to meet you!" Nigel extends his hand. "I'm Nigel—"

"I know who you are," I quickly reply, mirroring his smile. "You're running again, I believe? I haven't had time to check the full list of candidates after the nominations closed."

"Ah! Long weekend? I heard the party was a riot." He laughs. "You're right. I am running again. I have to thank you for helping us out. I can't imagine how busy you must be. Campaigning has begun, and we just couldn't afford a scandal, you know?"

"Exactly," Wayne agrees. "Kevin should be reaching now. Come, let's sit."

He pulls out the chair to the right of the head of the table and gestures for me to sit down. I'm right opposite Nigel.

Once Wayne is settled in his own seat—at the head—a well-built young man enters the room, carrying a slim device. He offers me a pleasant smile and introduces himself as Wayne's junior at Public Affairs—"Kevin."

In a flash, Kevin has transformed one of the walls of the conference room into a screen. A large list of alphabetically ordered employee portfolios fades in. He clicks on a specific folder, secured with a four-digit passcode, and it reveals less than twenty files.

Wayne is not paying attention to the screen. He flips through my files, pausing every other second to read my scribbled notes. Once he's done with a file, he passes it on to Nigel, who doesn't care to even skim through it.

"My team narrowed it down to these," Kevin speaks up, looking directly at me. 'Them,' I feel like correcting him. "We have about eight employees in common with your list."

"Let's just go through ours, and we'll present our case against each," Wayne says. "We can start interrogating them immediately. Our goal right now is to just find out what information they've passed on to the ONA and how much of it."

"Uh-huh," I mutter, not registering a word. My mouth is so dry and trying to swallow does not help. I feel like the word 'whistleblower' is painted on my forehead and Kevin can read it.

"Do you need some water, Lu?" Wayne's lips pinch together in concern.

Kevin doesn't wait for me to answer. He quickly pours out a glass of water from the frivolous crystal jug kept at the center of the table. It takes me a second to drink all of it, and I can feel Wayne staring at me—puzzled. If I wasn't nervous before, I sure was now.

"Right," Wayne continues. "So the first one is Victoria Marks. She's my best pick. I see you've got her too."

"She has a strong motive." I nod. "An ex-scholarship child. Fell out with her boss."

"However," Wayne adds. "She still would not have known who the owner of the account was. We don't disclose names on all systems; you need a certain level of access. She could have snooped around the file room and found out, but her watch would have caught extra movement and we would have that on record."

"What about this guy?" Nigel finally speaks up. Victoria's file on the large screen switches to one of a prunish man. "He knew who the account belonged to, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Wayne says thoughtfully. "But he was involved in just a discrimination lawsuit, and he got a big sum out of it too. Would you still be mad?"

I ignore Wayne's strange question and pretend to read the man's file. I don't know how many more of these we'll have to pass before we reach Hermann's. I check my phone for new messages—only to come up empty.

God. Every minute feels excruciating.

"If everyone seems like a suspect, maybe it will be easier to narrow it down to a larger number. Say, ten?" Wayne asks, looking at Nigel.

"I'm not sure. Could be bad press if you fire all of them," Nigel replies.

Ten sounds good. I could argue against several of them to try and convince Wayne. At least it would stall them until we reached Hermann.

"I could handle the press. I'll make sure no one at The Reverent does a piece on it," I say. Wayne smiles, agreeing to the idea, but Nigel does not seem convinced.

"That would solve half the problem," He grunts. "See, I'm not worried about small media houses. I'm only worried about the bigger ones. Even if we have the Reverent on our side, what about your competitors?"

"I think Nigel's right," Wayne adds softly. "Nutrien can't afford another scandal, and Mark doesn't seem to trust MediaNet."

I nod with pursed lips. This couldn't get worse. I want to check my phone again but it could look suspicious. Twice in under a minute? I hold myself back and turn to face the screen.

I can barely hear Wayne and Nigel as they discuss with the blood rushing to my ears. Files fade in and out.

Wayne is brash and decisive, and the time we spend, per person, seems to be monotonically decreasing. One word in favor of a person, whether it was the lack of a strong motive or enough means, immediately disqualified them in his eyes. It's tough to give neutral responses or to pretend to be on the fence when all of his questions are blunt and closed.

When it comes to Hermann's, I give measured answers to make sure that they suspect him but not enough to save him a spot at the top of the pile.

I keep fidgeting with the hem of my pin-striped skirt under the table, watching my phone from the corner of my eye. Did it buzz? Could I check it again if the others haven't even glanced at theirs in the last hour?

Wait—was that a blink?

"Could we take a little break?" I blurt out. The others politely agree.

I rush into the restroom and lock the door behind me. The stalls are empty, and I lean against the sink. Turning the knob of the tap, I let the water run through the gaps of my jittery fingers.

(2) new messages 

"Heavily encrypted. They have to download all of it. It will be some time before we can call this a victory. But for now, yes, you can direct them towards Letterbox."

"Done."

Relieved; I exhale loudly through my mouth. Done. Done. Done. It's unbelievable. It could be breaking news. An exposé! A fucking paper-trail!

I let my hair down, dig my fingers in, and ruffle it. I'm too busy trying to fight the smile off my face as I step outside that I almost jump when I find Wayne leaning against a wall, a couple of feet away, waiting for me. He offers me a warm smile, according to him—in return.

"Hey." He straightens up as I approach him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I reply quickly. He steps closer, placing his hand on my waist, and I have to look up at him.

"I was a pretty terrible date, wasn't I?" he asks in almost a whisper. "I can make it up to you. Let me take you out to dinner again. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Driving to Bex to learn more about a possible violation of the electoral code of conduct.

"I'm having dinner with a friend tomorrow. Maybe sometime later this week."

"Of course"—He plants a small kiss on my forehead—"Hope you have a nice time."

"So, I have a question," I say, cautiously. He nods, and my eyes flit over to the conference room behind him, where Nigel is waiting for us. "Why is he here?"

"I was going to tell you when he leaves," Wayne whispers. "He didn't want you to know, but I think it's disrespectful to make someone help you while withholding the full story from them—"

"And I'm not stupid, I would have guessed that Bex is involved," I add.

"Of course. That's just what it is. Kerry has helped us out over the years, and there is an existing paper trail. They are worried ONA might have their hands on it. Do you remember the controversy around the Water Deregulation Bill? We had given Kerry a little nudge to get her off the fence. If that comes to light right now, it won't be forgotten easily. Since Jeremiah brought it up again, there has been a small—but steady—stream of criticism, and I don't think he would have brought it up unless they knew something."

"I see. So, it's just Kerry?"

"Mhm. Just her," He replies, and with that lie hanging over us, we walk back into the conference room.

There are five people on the screen. Three of them will lose their job today. I wish I could point at Hermann and say, "just him. That's what my gut is telling me," without seeming incredibly suspicious when he actually admits to it.

"I still have one problem," Wayne says, unbuttoning his blazer as he takes a seat.

He tells us about Julie receiving visits from ONA members and begins to explain where he felt like he was hitting a wall. "They visited her before her interview! She never contacted them herself. The 'accountant' has to be someone with enough clearance to learn that Julie's debt had been taken care of that early. Or maybe, the ONA was not tipped off by the accountant at all. They just contacted their whistleblower afterwards."

"So, you're saying there is someone else?" Nigel's eyebrows rise in shock.

"I think so." Wayne shrugs.

He turns to look at me, waiting for me to weigh in. I'm holding my breath. I can't find the right words to say to dispel his theory, and I don't know how long I can stand him pondering this while staring directly at the culprit.

With trembling hands, pressed into a small fist on my lap, I add, "maybe two accountants? They're just hiding their wild card."

"That's what I was thinking!" Wayne's face lights up.

I try not to gasp in relief. I feel as if the parachute had unfurled in time, saving me from crushing my bones against the concrete. Finally breathing, I don't fully comprehend that I had pushed the very man I was defending a few days ago to his sure death. 

-----

It takes them an hour. Hermann is escorted out of his office building—where he had spent at least a decade—by two guards. They shove him past the heavy glass doors and thump down a box, that contained everything he was allowed to leave with, on the pavement.

When I leave Nutrien's headquarters, I know that it's time to move. I could not put their lives at risk. It would be easier with some distance between us.

It's a Monday evening, and I had not expected to see my parents cuddled up on the couch. My decision had encountered some resistance the first time, but they say nothing today. My father is a bit of a crier so when he hugs me, it's long, warm, and comforting. He finally pulls away with tearful eyes and slips away behind my mother. She just grabs my hand and squeezes it tight, forcing me to look directly into her eyes, as she repeats:

"We are only a few streets away. You ever need us, for anything, we will be there. I don't care what time it is."

On the other hand, I don't feel anything at all. That is, until my apartment comes into view. The building looks so familiar and so untouched by everything that has happened, that a sob catches in my throat.

The last time I was here, I was choosing what I'd wear to go to Silver Valley. "Clean, professional, and ready," was how the fashion website had described the outfit before recommending it to me.

Now all those clothes were stiff with dried blood, packed in a vacuum-sealed bag in some evidence locker.

A gendarme's car seems to be parked nearby, which is peculiar considering the kind of area this is. There were several reporters and lawyers on this block and most buildings, including mine, even lacked surveillance. It made things easier for sources and informants. I walk into the foyer, attentive to my surroundings. The wheels on my suitcase create some noise, but it is easy to spot the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards me. I turn around to find Inspector Johnson, and a frustrated grunt escapes my lips.

"Are you seriously going to accost me in my own building?" I snap at him, pulling out my keycard for the lift. I want to get to my apartment as fast as I can.

"I'm not accosting you. I want to call a truce," He says and gestures with his hands to put down my key.

"Why would I want to do that?" I tilt my head to the side. My grip on the handle of my suitcase tightens.

"I know you've been helping Nutrien. I may have been wrong about you," He explains. "I am willing to offer you a deal, and I think you'll be interested. All you have to do is call that new lawyer of yours and tell her that you want to withdraw your complaint against me."

"And what do I get?"

"This,"—He pulls out a small drive from his coat pocket and holds it out for me to see—"it has everything I've had on Councilman Hamdi since his first arrest. Trust me, this is a goldmine. You have my permission to take it to your boss or show your friends at Nutrien. Everybody is watching him right now, and you could give them such a show."

"I don't know. I'm not going to fall for your strange mind games," I say hesitantly. I start to turn away when he stops me.

"You know complaints don't work, right? They are not going to throw me out just because—"

"Then why do you care?" I cut him off. "It's obvious that you do."

"I'm looking at a big promotion. A clean file would help. Come on, London." He smiles cockily. "You almost died because of that man—at least get to know him."

"I do know him."

That's what I should have said. Instead, I walk into my apartment with that small drive in my fist.

They know where I live. They know who I am. They could come for me as they came for Dakota. Peaking into Johnson's file can wait. I turn on all the lights, wipe down the dusty counters, blast the purifier, slide open the glass doors to the balcony, and pull off the old bedsheets.

I step into my closet and feel for the wicker basket I had left behind a small stack of formal pants. I carry it out to the balcony and leave it on the couch facing the twinkling skyline.

I hastily look at the papers on the work table set up in one corner of my bedroom. I search for the file from my mother. It is stuck under a pile of my own bills, in the bottom-most drawer. I fix it under my arm and drag the small cylinder from the kitchen to the balcony.

The fire pit seems safe to use. Stopping between the rectangular table—which hosts the pit at it's center—and the glass railing, I empty half the file into the pit and gently turn the knob on the side.

The flames pulse, then flicker and brighten. Their blue bodies leap into glowing crimson and yellow flames—consuming the paper quickly. I toss the rest of the contents into it, before walking away to bring my work laptop.

I settle down on the couch, next to the warm fire. The gentle crackling sounds and the chilly breeze eases my nerves. I dig into the papers in the wicker basket. Newspaper clippings, printed op-eds, insightful comments on political forums, and statistics. I take them out one by one, pulling out any pins or clips, and dropping them into the fire. 

SIXTEEN YEAR OLD CHARGED WITH ARSON AFTER VIDEO GOES VIRAL

"...the video was immediately removed from..."

EVERTON ARSONIST CALLS THE COUNCIL 'GREEDY' IN PUBLIC STATEMENT

ODILE UNIVERSITY RAISES MONEY FOR VICTIMS OF FACTORY DISASTER

Meet the organizers: Emir Hamdi, Cherry Devlin

ENIEXON CHAIRMAN: "CLAIMS OF NEGLIGENCE ARE MISLEADING AND EXPLOSIVE"

"@lizzie_xo Glad to hear that! He could make a good lawyer in the future. Now that he's choosing better ways of achieving his goals, I find myself agreeing with him. The roof inspections were undisclosed for so long. I find their version hard to buy. He made a good point in tonight's debate." @callum-error404 (deactivated)

300 MORE PROTESTORS ARRESTED OVERNIGHT AS AFD STANDS BY TEXTBOOK BLACKLIST

ARRESTED AGAIN;

NO, THE EVERTON ARSONIST SHOULD NOT TAKE THE BAR

"...stoking more flames, as the recently officialized chairman of..." (op-ed)

JUDGE HART STANDS UP FOR EMIR: "NOT A JUST SYSTEM WITHOUT DIVERSITY"

EX-YOUTH LEADER EXPOSES BIGOTED YOUTH GROUPS

"...for their views on immigration,...,surprisingly, has a strong connection with the infamous..,"

JUDGE HART'S OFFICE RECEIVES 'SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT' AWARD

"...would have been impossible without the members of this office..."

MORE JOB CUTS! PROSECUTORS TAKE TO ATOM TO TALK ABOUT YOUR RIGHTS

"...headed by Emir Hamdi, well-known as..."

'UNEMPLOYMENT CAMPS,' SEES UNPRECENDENTED FOOTFALL

JUDGE HART DEAD AT 56

AFD TAKES ALL AGAIN

"...observers didn't raise concerns despite an assassination right before elections,...,case seems to have been closed..."

"@gibbs32 Emir Hamdi, really? So we will just let any criminal stand for Council now? WHAT is our province coming to?"@hann-uix

A PROVINCE IN DISBELIEF! 

ONA WINS BY LANDSLIDE IN EVERTON

"...Everton folk seemed rejoiced. One even claimed that "[Emir] could be the next premier." Many felt the same, mentioning that he just needed the "right connections" to keep him from being pushed under..."

A cold breeze cuts through the air and blows hair into my face. To ease the goosebumps on my arms, I turn the fire pit knob further and drop the rest of the basket's contents into it.

I have to shield my eyes from the sudden burst of white light from my laptop screen as I switch it on. Chewing on my bottom lip, I wait for the drive to be scanned. When I'm sure it's free of any malware, I download the files.

True to his word, there is a large amount of material. I recall what Emir had told me and search "Judge Hart investigation," into the bar.

A small file loads quicker than the others.

It's a picture from Judge Hart's burial. A stormy day with droplets

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