“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Convenient.”
“I expected you to say that.”
She extended the envelope.
Ethan didn’t take it.
“What’s inside?”
“One document.”
“What document?”
Victoria looked directly at him.
“The original equipment failure report.”
Ethan went completely still.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That report never existed.”
“It did.”
“I was told—”
“You were lied to.”
His eyes dropped toward the envelope.
Eleven years.
Eleven years of being told he had misremembered.
Eleven years of wondering whether grief had distorted what he saw.
Eleven years of waking at 3:00 a.m. hearing alarms that no longer existed.
He finally took the envelope.
His fingers shook.
He hated that Victoria saw it.
Ethan tore it open.
One sheet.
Technical codes.
Dates.
