She laughed. "That sounds about right."

"People from work asking questions?"

"Some. I told the truth."

"Then come home and eat something. You never think when you're hungry."

She promised she would. It was the only order that day she was glad to receive.

At 4:30 p.m. Emi called with an update. Hoshin's board had unanimously approved the suspension of acquisition talks until the disputed documents were authenticated and the deployment representations investigated. The press release would mention material discrepancies, not Evelyn's name.

"Thank you," Evelyn said. "I don't want to be the headline every time you do your job."

"Neither do we," Emi replied. "We prefer accurate paperwork to public drama."

After the call, Jun's phone vibrated. He read the screen, frowning.

"What now?" Evelyn asked.

He showed her an internal message from Tokyo. The independent examiner had recovered an earlier revision of Appendix C. The deleted exception thresholds were back, and so was a comment embedded in the margin. It was written in English, addressed to someone called G.V.

THE WORDING MUST CHANGE BEFORE THE BUYER'S BOARD SEES IT.

Evelyn looked up. "Graham Voss."

Jun shook his head. "Maybe. Or someone wants us to think so."

She nodded slowly. There was no shortcut past evidence, even when the shortest answer was the one that anger wanted most.

Then a second message arrived from Cho. Her team had discovered the suspended Seattle demonstration had been replaced by a private test at a warehouse outside the port boundary. The same device serial number appeared on its permit request.

Someone was still trying to run the machine.

Chapter 10 — An Invitation from Graham Voss

Before accepting the invitation, Evelyn spent part of the morning walking along the waterfront with Walter. He moved slowly, resting whenever the ache in his back rose, but insisted that the cool air helped him think. They passed an exhibit describing the city's old cargo cranes and stopped to read how many workers had once operated each one. Walter told her about a supervisor who had made his crew wait for a missing maintenance part even while a ship captain threatened to take the cargo elsewhere. The delay cost money. It also kept a cable from snapping above a crowded dock. "Nobody wrote a magazine profile about that supervisor," Walter said. "He went home, had dinner, and came back the next morning. That's what good decisions usually look like." Evelyn carried the thought into her meeting with Voss. Whatever dramatic apology he might offer, she wanted to know whether he could make one ordinary, expensive decision to keep other people safe.

Graham Voss chose a small café on the edge of the financial district for his next attempt to control the story. He sent the invitation through Danielle, offering a meeting with counsel present, and specified that he would come without security or assistants. The message ended with a sentence that startled Evelyn: I owe her an explanation.

"He owes you a million dollars," Isaiah said when she told the family.

"The explanation might be worth more," Walter replied.

Evelyn did not know whether either was true. She went anyway, with Danielle beside her, and chose the seat facing the door. Voss arrived precisely on time. Without the private dining room around him he looked older, although not smaller. His coat was expensive and soaked at the shoulders; he had walked through the rain rather than ask his driver to cross the street.

"Miss Price," he said. "Counsel. Thank you for meeting me."

"You asked," Evelyn replied.

He sat. For a long minute he said nothing. Evelyn waited without filling the silence. She had learned from translation work that people often revealed themselves in the moments when they expected others to rescue a conversation.

"I behaved badly," Voss said. "At the restaurant. I have no defense for making you a spectacle."

Danielle opened her notebook. "Are you making an apology, Mr. Voss, or proposing a settlement?"

"Both, perhaps."

He slid a folder across the table. It contained a signed undertaking to pay the wager, conditional on Evelyn agreeing not to speak publicly about matters involving Voss Meridian. The first page listed a sum of one million dollars; the next seven pages were restrictive covenants.

Evelyn read until she reached the provision applying to all information learned before, during, or after the dinner. She looked up. "This isn't payment of a wager. It's a contract to keep me quiet about Kobe."

"The company must protect itself against unverified allegations."

"Then verify them."

Voss's jaw tightened. "You don't understand the number of people who rely on this transaction. Jobs. Retirement plans. Port modernization contracts. A six-hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar deal doesn't exist in a moral vacuum."

"Neither does a warning label," she replied.

He stared at her. "You're very quick."

"I've had practice."

Danielle closed the folder. "The wager is unconditional under the signed terms. My client will not exchange her rights to speak or cooperate with regulators for money already owed."

"It could take years to litigate," Voss said.

"Then you should pay it promptly," Danielle answered.

For the first time, the old arrogance returned plainly. "I could make sure no employer trusts you again. I have relationships in every city where you'd want to work."

Evelyn felt the threat land. The last time a man like this had suggested her career could disappear, she had spent months trying to decide whether she was exaggerating the danger. Tonight the lawyer beside her heard every word.