For six weeks, she had been quietly pulling threads inside the Meridian program. Test reports that were too clean. Invoices from a supplier nobody could identify.
She had come to look for herself, before anyone could tidy things up.
Someone had found out anyway.
"The man who helped me," she said. "At the gate. Where is he?"
Nolan hesitated. He had been hoping she wouldn't ask so soon.
"His name is Caleb Mercer. He's a maintenance technician at the plant. Or he was. He was terminated this morning."
Vivien turned her head on the pillow and looked at him.
She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
"For leaving his post," Nolan added quietly. "To help you."
"Get me the security footage from the gate. All of it."
Vivien watched the footage in silence.
Herself, collapsing against the light pole. The long, terrible pause, while a dozen people stood still. Then a tall man in a work jacket, setting down a wrench and crossing the lot without hesitation.
She watched Dorian Voss storm over, and even without sound, she could read every word.
She watched Caleb look up once. Then look back down at her, and simply stay.
He had no idea who she was. He hadn't asked for anything. He hadn't even waited to learn her name.
She watched it three times.
"Pull his personnel file," she said.
The file arrived within the hour, and it was not what she expected.
Before Ashford Aeronautics, Caleb Mercer had spent 11 years at Corrigon Aerospace in Seattle, one of the most respected avionics firms in the country.
He hadn't been a technician there. He had been a senior systems engineer, and later the lead on their flight data integrity program.
There were patents with his name on them. There were performance reviews that used words like exceptional and indispensable.
Then, 9 years ago, he had resigned. No transfer, no promotion. Just gone.
The exit form had a single line under reason for departure. Two words, typed and left there for anyone to wonder about.
Family circumstances.
3 years later, he had applied to Ashford Aeronautics for an entry-level maintenance job. And in 6 years, he had never asked for anything higher.
"A man who designed flight data systems," Vivien said quietly, "has spent 6 years checking ground power units in the cold. Why would anyone do that?"
Nolan had no answer.
She was already reaching for the IV line in her arm.
* * *
Caleb Mercer's apartment sat on the second floor of a brick building on the east side of Wichita, above a hardware store that had been closing early for years.
It was clean, sparse, and very quiet. A secondhand couch. A drafting table covered with old technical manuals.