Vivien plugged the drive into the laptop herself and moved down the list of emails to the sender field.
The name on the screen was one she had known since she was 7 years old.
Gideon Price.
* * *
Vivien read the emails standing up, in front of everyone. They went back 14 months.
The Meridian's original air data module had failed cold weather qualification.
A proper redesign would delay certification a year, killing the Transcontinental order. The centerpiece of a secret merger Gideon had been negotiating with a European aerospace group. A merger that would pay him personally roughly $300 million in stock.
So the module had been swapped for a cheaper unit that passed ground tests. The warnings had been silenced. The reports that didn't fit had been deleted.
Gideon had never once touched a keyboard himself. Everything ran through Dorian.
And then Keller found the last folder.
A set of drafts Gideon had written but never sent. Memos to the board, prepared in advance. Each one describing Dorian Voss as a rogue operations director who had concealed safety failures without the knowledge of senior leadership.
Gideon had been building the case against his own partner from the beginning. If anything ever came out, Dorian would take the fall alone.
Dorian read those drafts over Vivien's shoulder.
The color drained out of his face completely. He sat down heavily on the edge of the reception desk.
"That son of a..."
His voice broke.
"He told me he'd protect me. He said if anyone ever asked, he'd back every signature."
He looked up at Vivien. And suddenly, he looked every one of his 48 years, and then some.
"I'll tell you everything. The supplier. The code. The driver who brought you that tea. He came through Gideon's security contractor. I didn't know about that until after. I swear I didn't know."
Two of Keller's investigators moved to stand quietly on either side of him.
Vivien listened without expression. Then she turned toward the windows.
Caleb had already turned toward the windows.
The test bay doors were rolling open. A tug was backing up to the Meridian's nose gear.
On the status board behind the reception desk, a new line glowed green.
Test article 2. Cold weather performance flight. Departure 1400 hours.
Caleb looked at the clock on the wall. It read 1:38.
"That's the aircraft with the module," he said quietly. "They're flying it today."
Vivien was already on her phone to flight operations.
"This is Vivien Ashford. All Meridian flights are suspended, effective immediately. Ground test article 2. Now."
She listened. Her face changed. She lowered the phone slowly.