Ruth was thirty-nine, with dark wavy hair, warm olive skin, and a habit of listening to complete explanations before offering an opinion.
She greeted him in the reception area.
"Mr. Cole?"
"Ellis, please."
She smiled.
"Ruth."
They shook hands.
"I understand you've brought a small personal collection."
"Small by my uncle's standards."
Ruth laughed.
"I've heard that before."
Ellis glanced toward the boxes.
"He labeled everything."
"That sounds promising."
"Then he left notes explaining why some things shouldn't be included."
Ruth's expression became more serious.
"That sounds even better."
She led him into a conference room.
They began reviewing the materials.
There were copies of public speeches, photographs from training seminars, letters written with permission for archival use, and handwritten notes concerning the history of complaint-review reforms.
Ruth examined the inventory.
"These should be manageable."
Ellis nodded.
"I'd like to make sure the digital copies retain their dates and source information."
"Of course."
"And if something isn't public, we should document the restriction rather than quietly omitting it."
Ruth smiled.
"You really are an archivist."
Ellis laughed.
"Occupational hazard."
They worked until lunchtime.
At one point, Ruth opened an older catalog to compare a photograph against an existing collection.
She clicked a reference number.
The file did not open.
She tried another.
The system displayed a notice saying the material had been transferred to a newer records platform.
"That's strange," she murmured.
Ellis looked up.
"What?"
"Some older complaint records are redirecting to the current municipal portal instead of their historical collection."
"Is that intended?"
"It may be. We migrated some metadata last year."
She tried opening another reference.
Again, the link failed.
Ellis leaned toward the screen.
"Are the underlying files still there?"