The official server had failed.

The maligned woman’s private archive had held.

That told him everything about which of them the company should have been trusting all along.

Wescott felt a deep wave of shame — not for how he’d been treated that night, but because the company he’d built on a promise of respect had made a devoted woman defend her own honesty as if truth were a liability.

“Forward all of it to my personal email,” he said.

“And please — stop calling me Mr.