“And this environmental report…”
“What about it?”
“The wording is identical to another report.”
Victor's voice sharpened.
“Where?”
“I've seen this language before.”
“Where?”
Naomi couldn't remember exactly.
A university research paper.
A regulatory dispute.
Something.
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Victor smiled coldly.
“Then perhaps you should stop pretending you understand things.”
Henry turned toward Victor.
“That is enough.”
Victor looked at him.
Henry's voice became quiet.
“You have been talking for ninety minutes.”
He closed the folder.
“We have been listening.”
He looked at Naomi.
“Now we are going to do our own investigation.”
Victor's face hardened.
“You're threatening my project?”
“No.”
Henry stood.
“We are protecting our money.”
He turned to leave.
Victor grabbed his arm.
Henry stopped.
The restaurant went silent.
Victor released him.
“Don't walk away.”
Henry looked at his hand.
Then at Victor.
“I suggest you don't touch me again.”
Victor backed away.
Henry walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned to Naomi.
“Miss Carter.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have time for coffee tomorrow?”
Naomi hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because I think your mother taught you more than Mandarin.”
Then he left.
Naomi stood there.
Victor looked at her.
His voice was almost a whisper.
“You have no idea what you've stepped into.”
Naomi met his eyes.
“Maybe.”
Victor leaned closer.
“But you're about to.”
The Files in the Basement
Naomi didn't sleep.
At two in the morning, she sat at the kitchen table in her father's house.
Her laptop was open.
A stack of papers lay beside it.
Samuel Carter was asleep in the next room.
Naomi had spent the last three hours searching everything she could find about Victor Hale's Eastern Shore development.
She found articles.
Press releases.
Architectural renderings.
City council meetings.
Public opposition.
Investor presentations.
Environmental reports.
And one strange detail.
Every public document described the project as environmentally safe.
But older city records contained references to unresolved soil contamination.
Naomi stared at the screen.
She opened another article.
Then another.
A community group had accused Hale Development of buying properties through shell companies.
Naomi wrote down the names.
One company.
Then another.
Then another.
They all had different addresses.
Different officers.
Different registration dates.
But all roads led back to one investment fund.
Hale Strategic Holdings.
Naomi leaned back.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She stared at it.
Then answered.
Silence.
“Hello?”
A man's voice said:
“Stop looking.”
Naomi's stomach tightened.
“Who is this?”
“You don't know what you're dealing with.”
“Then tell me.”
“You think you're helping those investors.”
“I am.”
“You're putting your family in danger.”
Naomi's eyes moved toward the hallway.
“What do you know about my family?”
The caller hung up.
Naomi immediately called her father.
No answer.
She ran into the bedroom.
Samuel was asleep.
She woke him.
“Dad.”
He opened his eyes.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You're shaking.”
Naomi sat on the edge of the bed.
“Did you ever inspect a project for Victor Hale?”
Samuel's face changed.
“Why?”
“Please.”
He sat up.
“Which project?”
“Eastern Shore.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
“What did you find?”
Samuel looked away.
“Problems.”
“What kind?”
“Structural.”
“Environmental?”
“Yes.”
Naomi's heart accelerated.
“What did you report?”
“Everything.”
“What happened?”
“I was reassigned.”
“By whom?”
Samuel didn't answer.
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“Marcus Vale.”
Naomi recognized the name.
Chief financial officer of Hale Development Group.
“What did he say?”
“He said the report was too conservative.”
“That doesn't explain a reassignment.”
“No.”
Samuel stood.
“Come with me.”
They went downstairs.
Samuel walked toward an old metal filing cabinet.
He opened the bottom drawer.
Inside were yellowed folders.
He pulled out one.
EASTERN SHORE — INSPECTION
Naomi opened it.
Photographs.
Cracks.
Water damage.
Soil samples.
Structural diagrams.
Handwritten notes.
Her father had documented everything.
She looked at him.
“Why did you keep this?”
“Because I knew one day someone would ask.”
“Did anyone ever investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The investigation disappeared.”
Naomi stared.
“What do you mean?”
“The case was closed.”
“Why?”
“Insufficient evidence.”
“But you had evidence.”
“I did.”
“Where did it go?”
Samuel walked toward the water heater.
Behind it was a small metal box.
He pulled it out.
Inside was a USB drive.
Naomi stared.
“What is that?”
“My backup.”
“Why didn't you give this to the city?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
Samuel's expression became tired.
“I was told to forget it.”
Naomi picked up the drive.
“Who told you?”
“My supervisor.”
“Who told him?”
Samuel looked at her.
“Victor Hale.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Naomi whispered:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were twenty-one.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“You were still my daughter.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
Samuel sat down.
“I was afraid.”
Naomi looked at him.
She had never heard him say those words before.
Her father had always been strong.
He had fixed broken doors.
He had repaired plumbing.
He had worked through illness.
He had taught her to stand straight when someone tried to intimidate her.
And now he was admitting fear.
“What happened to the inspector who took over your report?”
Samuel's eyes lowered.
“He left the city.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Dad.”
“I don't know.”
Naomi plugged the USB drive into her laptop.
Folders appeared.
Some were encrypted.
Others weren't.
One folder was labeled:
PROJECT SHORELINE — ORIGINAL
Naomi opened it.
The first file was a spreadsheet.
Property addresses.
Purchase prices.