He remained composed.
“Your father’s letter is not dispositive.”
“No.”
The Black woman agreed.
“But this is.”
Her counsel placed another record onscreen.
Digital archive logs.
The alleged amendment PDF contained metadata.
Created two weeks earlier.
Not three years earlier.
Modified yesterday.
Software license registered to a Meridian outside legal contractor.
Silence.
The gray-haired lawyer stopped breathing normally.
The Black woman looked directly at him.
“You were saying?”
He leaned back.
“I had no knowledge of fabrication.”
“Maybe.”
“Be careful.”
She smiled faintly.
“I have been.”
Her counsel continued.
“We also preserved secure access logs.”
Someone had attempted to enter Halcyon’s trust archive using credentials belonging to a deceased records manager.
The IP address traced to a hotel used by Meridian’s transaction team.
That did not prove who sat at the keyboard.
It proved proximity.
The socialite suddenly stood.
Everyone looked.
Her face had gone pale.
“I need to speak.”
The Meridian lawyer said sharply:
“Sit down.”
The Black woman looked at him.
“Don't speak to passengers on my aircraft like that.”
He went quiet.
The socialite remained standing.
“My husband had that laptop.”
The room changed.
“What?”
The Black woman asked.
“Last week.”
The socialite’s hands shook.
“He brought home a separate laptop.”
“Said it was for the transaction.”
“Was it company-issued?”
“I don't know.”
“Color?”
“Black.”
“Brand?”
She answered.
Her counsel typed.
The socialite continued.
“He was angry because he couldn't open some archived system.”
“He called someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he say?”
The socialite closed her eyes, remembering.
“Something about old credentials.”
The Meridian lawyer stood.
“This conversation needs counsel.”
The Black woman stared.
“For your client?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
He stopped.
Interesting.
The socialite looked at him.
“My husband did something illegal?”
“No one said that.”
“You told me this morning she wouldn't control the company after today.”
Everyone turned.
The lawyer’s face emptied.
The Black woman became completely still.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
The socialite realized too late what she had revealed.
The Meridian lawyer said:
“Do not answer.”
The Black woman said calmly:
“You are free not to.”
The socialite looked between them.
Then at the Black woman’s clean cream outfit.
Perhaps she thought about the wine.
About ordering her removed.
About how confidently she had assumed the hierarchy.
Something changed in her.
“I want to answer.”
The lawyer sat.
Furious.
The socialite continued.
“He said the acquisition would be approved because your voting rights would be frozen.”
“When?”
“Before boarding.”
“What time?”