"Both things can be true," Kuroda said.

Voss ignored her. "Somebody gave her the passage. This was set up."

"You chose the judge," Evelyn reminded him. "And your guests chose the text."

"I'm not paying a million dollars because you have a story about a warehouse."

Emi lifted the agreement from the table and placed it beside the Japanese page. "She gave a technically meaningful answer. The question of payment can wait until our document is verified."

"You work for Takamori—" Voss began, then stopped himself. His companies were the ones seeking access to Hoshin's patents; these Japanese investors owed him no obedience.

"Hoshin," Emi corrected gently. "And I'm not here to confirm your preference. I'm here to protect the agreement."

Kuroda turned to Evelyn. "Can you identify the original standard?"

"Perhaps. I have a glossary from the Kobe project. It is not a Hoshin document, and I won't share anything confidential. But I can show you which technical categories were supposed to remain distinct."

"You'll retrieve it?"

Evelyn felt the old fear return, unexpectedly sharp. She had once believed that handing over evidence would make the truth self-evident. Instead it had cost her a career. Looking at Jun, she wondered whether he had ever been required to sign a sentence he knew was false.

"I will," she said. "With a record of what I provide and to whom."

Kuroda inclined her head. "That is sensible."

Caleb Sloan finally found his voice. "Evelyn, I can put someone else on service. You don't need to be—"

"I still have tables," she said.

"Not tonight." He looked at Voss and, for once, did not drop his eyes. "Someone else can handle them."

Voss stood abruptly. His chair scraped the floor. "We're not turning a business dinner into an investigation led by a waitress."

"You made her the center of the evening," Kuroda said. "And she has raised a question your acquisition team should already have answered."

Voss stared at the page. Then he reached for his phone. Evelyn noticed how carefully he kept its screen angled away from the others.

"I need to call our technical director," he said.

Jun shook his head. "Not until we preserve the version we received."

Voss's thumb stopped.

Only Evelyn saw the message on the phone before he turned it over: REMOVE APPENDIX C BEFORE THEY ASK.

And only Evelyn recognized the sender's name.

Miles Orton.

Chapter 4 — The Appendix That Wasn't There

The Aster Room had a fire exit that led to a narrow service balcony above an alley. Evelyn had used it whenever her shift felt too crowded, standing among stacked empty crates to let cold air clear the noise from her head. That night she stepped onto the balcony with her phone and called the one person she had sworn not to involve in the Kobe affair again.

"Masaru?" she said when the international connection opened.

For a moment there was only the hiss of distant traffic. Then an older man's voice answered in Japanese, warm and startled. "Evelyn? It has been so long. Are you safe?"

She could have answered yes. It would have been easier. Instead she told him about Kuroda, Jun, the altered sentence, and a name that had appeared on Graham Voss's screen.

At Miles Orton, Endo went quiet.

"He is working with the American buyer?" he asked.

"Apparently."

"Evelyn, the test you remember was not the final report. There was a supplemental appendix. We sent it to the American contractor twice. Both times it came back with its acknowledgment blank."

"Appendix C?"

Endo did not answer immediately. "How did you know?"

"Someone asked for it to be removed tonight."

The old engineer exhaled. "Then the same argument is happening again."

"Can you send me the appendix?"

"I cannot send confidential material without authorization. But I can tell you who holds the authorized copy. Ask Ms. Kuroda to request the 2019 validation archive directly from the standards committee, not from anyone attached to the transaction. Do not accept a scan without its release record."

Evelyn wrote that down in the red notebook she still carried. The pages were worn at the corners. Her father's instruction remained in the front, black ink fading but legible.

"One more thing," Endo said. "In Kobe, we were told your signature approved the softened translation. I never believed it. But the copy shown to our auditors carried your initials."