A man at the next table lifted his phone. Elena saw the faint glow of a recording light and understood that the evening had already escaped the room. Her answer would be posted online before she reached the staff entrance. The thought tightened her throat. Years ago, a clip of her father arguing at an arbitration hearing had been edited to make him sound erratic. The clip had followed her family everywhere.

She lowered her voice. 'I'm going back to work.'

'Wait,' Masato said. He stood, and the other members of his delegation rose with him. 'Mr. Sloane, we will not sign until an independent review is completed. Ms. Ward has pointed to a discrepancy our own team has been requesting you explain.'

Victor's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it. The color drained from his face.

Elena did not know who had sent the message, but she heard Clara whisper, 'The archive server? Tonight?'

Victor closed the phone in his fist. 'No more discussion,' he said. 'This meeting is adjourned.'

As the diners began moving toward the exit, Aiko slipped a cream-colored business card into Elena's hand. On the back she had written a single number and three words: BEFORE THEY DELETE.

Elena hid the card in her apron. She went to the service corridor, where the noise of the restaurant fell behind her, and checked her phone. There were six missed calls from an unknown number. A new text arrived before she could decide whether to answer.

YOU HAVE HIS EYES.

A second message followed.

YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DISAPPEAR. HE WAS TAKEN.

Elena stared at the screen. Under the message was a photograph taken less than an hour earlier, showing a gray-haired man at a train station in a dark overcoat. His face was turned away, but the old leather satchel against his leg was unmistakable.

It had belonged to Daniel Ward.

From the far end of the corridor came the quiet click of a door opening.

Chapter 3 — A Photograph Taken Yesterday

Elena left the service corridor without answering the message.

There was a narrow way from the staff lockers to the loading dock, and she knew every camera angle along it. She had learned those blind spots because the kitchen manager sometimes blamed missing bottles on whoever had been nearest the storeroom. Tonight the knowledge served a different purpose. Somebody had watched her at the table; somebody knew about her father; and somebody had taken the trouble to send a picture designed to make her act without thinking.

She stopped at the locker-room mirror. Her reflection was still wearing the white shirt and black vest she had put on at three that afternoon. The corners of her mouth were dry. She took out the cream business card Aiko had given her and copied the number into her phone, but did not call. Instead she photographed both sides and emailed the images to an account that had once been used for her graduate research. It was the first useful thing she had done in an hour.