I checked the place settings.
Then the room temperature.
Then the service instructions.
Everything looked normal.
But my heart was pounding.
At noon, the guests arrived.
Whitmore entered first, laughing with a gray-suited executive.
Mr. Lam followed.
He greeted the maître d' politely and thanked the young attendant who opened the door.
I noticed that.
Small gestures mattered.
Whitmore barely acknowledged the staff.
Mr. Lam did.
The guests took their seats.
I approached with water.
"Good afternoon. Welcome to the Sequoia Room."
Whitmore looked up.
For a moment, his eyes moved over my face.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Did he recognize me?
He had never met me during the Northbridge review.
Our communication occurred through internal channels.
My name appeared in case records, but there was no reason he would recognize my face.
Still, his expression made me nervous.
Then he looked away.
"Sparkling."
I nodded.
"Of course."
I poured the water.
Mr. Lam thanked me.
I smiled.
Then stepped back.
For the first twenty minutes, the meeting was ordinary.
The guests discussed weather, travel, infrastructure, and the challenges of operating cold-storage facilities across international markets.
Whitmore was charming.
He praised Jade Harbor's reputation.
Complimented Mr. Lam's business judgment.
And spoke confidently about the modernization project.
He described aging warehouses that needed new refrigeration systems.
Explained how energy-efficient equipment could reduce long-term costs.
And emphasized the strategic value of expanding refrigerated distribution near major shipping routes.
Much of what he said sounded reasonable.
That was part of what made the situation troubling.
A fraudulent component could be buried inside a legitimate business deal.
The entire transaction didn't have to be fictitious.
The warehouses existed.
The equipment needed upgrades.
Workers depended on the facilities.
And both companies had legitimate commercial reasons to cooperate.
The concern involved what happened to a specific forty-million-dollar portion of the investment.
If those funds were released under improper instructions, the damage could affect the project without immediately revealing itself.
The modernization work might be delayed.
Suppliers might go unpaid.
And the companies might spend months arguing about where the money had gone.
I knew that risk.
I had written about it.
I had lost my professional position after refusing to dismiss it.
Now I stood beside the table carrying water while the same transaction approached closing.
Whitmore reached toward the leather folder.
He smiled.
"Raymond, I think we're ready to move from planning into execution."
Mr. Lam nodded thoughtfully.
"The board is pleased with the commercial structure."
Whitmore grinned.