The interpreter flushed. Yui looked directly at Nia for the first time. She spoke in Japanese, slowly enough for every syllable to be deliberate. 'Can you tell me exactly what you read?'
Nia responded in the same language. She described the printed note, the incomplete bypass test, and the electronic certification showing green. She kept her voice even and avoided assuming that the Japanese team had made a mistake. Yui did not interrupt. When Nia finished, she opened the battered notebook and wrote a date.
Before the meeting began, Nia had watched the staff arrange seats according to job title. Executives received nameplates. Engineers received printed agendas. Support employees were expected to stand until someone noticed an empty chair. She had once asked Martin why technicians were not invited to early planning sessions. He replied that too many voices made meetings inefficient. Nia thought that depended on whether the absent voices would later be called to repair the equipment. She disliked bureaucracy as much as anyone, but she knew the difference between wasting time and discovering a mistake before it grew expensive.
The interpreter's approved phrases troubled her after the break. In language school, she had practiced finding equivalents that sounded natural to the listener. In technical work, naturalness sometimes concealed risk. The Japanese expression indicating a condition not yet satisfied might sound awkward if translated literally, but smoothing it into a general sentiment could erase the very condition that mattered. She wondered how many meetings ended with everyone believing they had agreed, when each person had heard a different promise. She wanted to ask Taro about his contract.
Victor cleared his throat. 'A minor documentation discrepancy shouldn't distract us from the celebration.'
'It is not minor,' Yui said in English. Her accent was light; her meaning was not. 'It is a condition of use.'
Martin intervened. 'We have final sign-off.'
'Show me the original witness report,' Yui replied.
For the first time that morning, no one reached for a prepared slide.
During the break, the interpreter approached Nia beside the coffee table. His name was Taro Kimura. He was young, impeccably dressed, and looked more tired than anyone else in the room.
'You put me in a difficult position,' he said quietly.
'I know. I'm sorry about that.'
'They gave me the approved English phrases. The technical material was marked out of scope.'
'Then they should not have asked you to interpret a technical meeting.'
He stared at the floor. 'There are people who pay a price for refusing a job.'
Nia almost told him that she understood. Instead she asked him to save the audio recording of Yui's question. He said he would try.
Through the glass wall, she saw Victor speak to Martin. Martin made a sharp gesture toward her. The conversation ended when Yui returned to the room.
At noon, Nia's work account was locked. A message from Human Resources instructed her to report to a disciplinary review. Her mother called a minute later, excited about the Friday ceremony. 'I heard they'll let schoolchildren press the button,' she said. 'Imagine that, baby. Something built to keep us safe.'
Nia looked toward the inlet and wondered who had decided that safe was a word you could announce before proving it.
CHAPTER 03
THE RECORDS THAT WERE MISSING
The disciplinary review lasted eleven minutes. Martin accused Nia of disrupting a high-level client meeting and acting outside her assigned duties. Human Resources called her intervention 'a communication challenge.' When Nia requested a copy of the commissioning witness report, the representative told her that the document was privileged contractor material.
'Are you firing me?' Nia asked.
'Not today,' Martin said. 'You'll be reassigned to inventory until further notice.'
In the basement stockroom, boxes of replacement fuses were stacked next to an abandoned vending machine. Nia sat on a cardboard carton and called her younger sister, Camila, who worked for the small but stubborn newspaper Bayline Ledger. Camila had spent two years investigating why waterfront homes paid higher flood insurance while developers continued to receive public subsidies.
'Before you say anything,' Nia warned, 'I'm not giving you a story.'