“Pull every archived file on the Georgia test site. Four years ago. Employee Caleb Tate. Cooling sensor incident. I want the unedited reports.”
There was silence on the line.
Then Mara said, carefully, “Wendell, I’ve seen that name.”
His stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“In a restricted folder. Lawson’s office requested it be sealed last year.”
Mrs. Tate heard enough. Her face hardened.
Wendell’s voice dropped.
“Send me everything.”
“I may not have authorization.”
“You have mine.”
“Lawson will know.”
“Good.”
He ended the call.
Jaylen stared at him, confusion and anger battling across his face.
“Who’s Lawson?”
“My chief operating officer,” Wendell said. “And maybe the man who buried the truth.”
Mrs. Tate shook her head.
“Truth doesn’t unbury the dead.”
“No,” Wendell said. “But it can stop the living from being buried with them.”
That afternoon, Wendell Hayes did something he had not done in twenty years.
He sat at a kitchen table without trying to own the room.
Mrs. Tate’s name was Lorna. She allowed him inside only because Jaylen insisted on showing him the rest of the power box design, and because Wendell promised not to touch anything without permission.
The kitchen smelled of beans warming on the stove. A small fan turned slowly on the counter, clicking once every rotation. Jaylen spread his drawings across the table.
