He frowned.
“To test service?”
“Yes.”
“That was reckless.”
She blinked.
He continued:
“Storm warning was severe.”
“You intentionally put yourself at a bus stop alone?”
“I had security nearby.”
“Where?”
“Two blocks away.”
He stared.
“Then why didn’t they come?”
“I told them not to unless I called.”
“You were shaking so badly you could barely use your phone.”
“I know.”
“That is not an undercover audit.”
“That is stupidity with a budget.”
For one second, she looked offended.
Then she laughed.
Hard.
He did not.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You could have gotten hypothermia.”
“I know.”
“You have people depending on you.”
Her smile faded.
He realized too late that he had crossed into territory that was not his.
He looked down.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
She studied him.
“People around me rarely tell me I was stupid.”
“Get poorer friends.”
She laughed again.
Then grew serious.
“You’re right.”
“I wanted evidence nobody could sanitize.”
“And I got it.”
“Dispatch stopped answering.”
“The accessible ride disappeared from the tracking system.”
“Then you found me.”
The father unwrapped the second half of his sandwich.
“You found me because you happened to drive past.”
“Life is poorly audited.”
She smiled.
“Apparently.”
Then:
“Why did you have the folding ramp?”
He paused.
That question entered a private place.
“My wife.”
The woman’s expression softened.
“She used a wheelchair?”
“Toward the end.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Cancer.”
“She lost strength.”
“Some days walking was possible.”
“Other days it wasn’t.”
“I built the ramp because our apartment at the time had three stupid steps.”
The woman looked toward him.
“And you kept it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He thought.
“Useful thing.”
Not the full answer.
She did not push.
Good.
The first major discovery arrived at 1:18.
The corporate attorney returned holding a tablet.
His expression was different.
The woman immediately knew.
“What?”
“We found an archived personnel file.”
The father’s shoulders tightened.
“Whose?”
The lawyer looked at him.
“Yours.”
Silence.
The father set down his sandwich.
The attorney continued.
“There are attachments not present in the human-resources version.”
“What kind?”
“Maintenance reports.”
The father looked toward the woman.
She said:
“Show us.”
The attorney hesitated.
“To be clear, these may be privileged or subject to employment confidentiality.”
The father stood.
“Then don't show me.”
The lawyer nodded, surprised.
The woman asked:
“What can you tell us?”
The attorney read.
“Seven years ago, the regional safety group recommended temporary suspension of seventy-one units after reviewing his cold-weather report.”
The father froze.
“What?”
The attorney looked toward him.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“They agreed?”
“According to this memo.”
The father stared.
For seven years, one of the deepest wounds had been believing nobody serious had believed him.
The attorney continued.
“The recommendation was withdrawn three days later.”