Chapter 6 - The Price of Being Protected
Dominic chose an empty community room in the building’s ground floor, not a private club. Autumn had demanded a place where the residents could see who was entering and where her attorney could sit beside her. He arrived carrying no laptop, no briefcase, and none of the grand authority he wore at Giovanni’s.
Mrs. Eliza Brooks, who had rented the same upstairs apartment for thirty-one years, took one look at him and said, “You’re the man whose company keeps sending us letters.”
Dominic looked at the paper in her hand. “Yes.”
“Then I hope you’ve brought better news than last Tuesday.”
Autumn had invited Eliza because she was tired of discussing buildings as if people did not live in them. Eliza had a grandson who visited every Thursday, a leaking kitchen tap the landlord had ignored, and a rosebush she had planted in a bucket on the fire escape because the courtyard had been paved over. She cared more about the rosebush than the market value of the building.
Claire spread the residents’ notices across a folding table. Sterling Gate had purchased a loan associated with the property. The notices suggested the owner might have to sell, though they did not themselves terminate anyone’s tenancy. The letterhead used alarming language that made the legal position appear more settled than it was.
“Who approved this wording?” Claire asked.
“Operations,” Dominic replied.
“Who approved Operations?”
“I did.”
Autumn watched him look at Eliza’s shaking hand. He seemed to understand, perhaps for the first time, that a memorandum can frighten a person even before a court decides whether it means anything.
“I can suspend the sale while we review it,” he said.
Eliza folded her arms. “Can you repair my tap?”
Dominic almost smiled, then realized she was serious. “I can arrange an independent repair.”
“No. Arrange the landlord to do what he was already supposed to do. Don’t buy yourself gratitude with a faucet.”
Autumn was so proud of her that she nearly clapped.
Dominic agreed to preserve the records, pause new acquisition steps under his control, and allow tenant representatives access to relevant correspondence through counsel. Claire made sure each promise was written down. None of it erased the years of bad practices, and Autumn refused an offer to become Sterling Gate’s head of security.
“You’d rather keep waiting tables?” Dominic asked.
“I’d rather choose my own work.”
He accepted the correction. “Then name your consulting fee for the work you’ve already done.”
“Send the contract to Claire. Pay Giovanni for my time, too. And disclose what you know to the investigators.”
“I’m working on the last part.”
“That’s the part I care about.”
After Dominic left, Eliza offered Autumn tea. They sat near a window with peeling paint, watching children return from school.
“You don’t have to save every one of us,” Eliza said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Autumn considered the question. “I’m starting to.”
That evening Vega arranged a recorded interview with Nolan Vale through his counsel. He denied planning the sabotage and accused Miriam of acting independently. Vega would not disclose the investigation’s full direction, but Claire learned that Nolan had continued billing Sterling Gate for Lantern after the MIT incident. His invoices described risk models trained on donor records, tenant histories, and financial reports obtained through brokers. Some of those records appeared to have been used without permission.
Autumn reviewed the contract summaries with a neutral forensic examiner. She recognized the name of a student account that had accessed the MIT server immediately before hers. It belonged to a lab assistant named Colette Price, whom she remembered as an excellent programmer with a habit of eating cereal during overnight shifts. Colette had resigned without saying goodbye after Autumn was expelled. Autumn found her through a public professional profile and sent a brief message asking whether she would speak to Claire.
Colette replied an hour later: I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK THE RIGHT QUESTION.
They met by video the next morning. Colette had moved to Minneapolis, started a family, and spent years avoiding anything related to MIT. She had seen Miriam Vale connect an Asterion-controlled computer to the university server after midnight during the week of the crash. When Colette asked about it, Miriam said she was authorized to collect audit data. Colette reported the encounter to her supervisor. Two days later, her employment contract ended.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Autumn asked.
“I tried. The university blocked my email after they ended my contract. I was twenty-two and afraid I’d never find another job. I should’ve tried harder.”
Autumn heard the regret, but she did not rush to comfort her. “Would you testify now?”
“Yes. I saved my original timesheet. It puts me in the lab when Miriam arrived.”
Claire arranged a statement. The timesheet was not dramatic. It did not identify a criminal mastermind or explain every technical detail. It placed a witness in the room at a specific time. After seven years of speculation, Autumn was grateful for something so ordinary and solid.
Ben came over that afternoon carrying groceries, moving carefully because his cardiologist had instructed him to avoid unnecessary stress. He found Autumn staring at a family photograph on her kitchen wall.
“Dad would be yelling at you to sleep,” he said.
“He yelled at both of us.”
“And you inherited it. Congratulations.”
She set down her phone. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I was the only adult in this family.”
Ben blinked. “You did most of the work.”
“I know. But you’ve been doing more than I let myself see.”
He sat beside her. They ate sandwiches in a companionable silence that would have felt impossible a week earlier.
At seven, Claire called. A judge had approved an emergency order requiring several businesses to preserve potentially relevant records. It was not a finding of wrongdoing, but it would make quiet deletion much harder. Autumn allowed herself one relieved breath.
Then Colette sent a photograph from her old timesheet folder. In the background of a lab snapshot, partly reflected in a glass door, stood Dominic Kaine. He was younger, wearing a gray coat. Behind him was Miriam Vale.
The timestamp was the night before Autumn was expelled.
May you like
Autumn forwarded the image to Claire and put her phone down. Dominic had told her he never knew about the MIT case.
Now she needed to find out whether he had lied, forgotten, or been brought there for a reason he still refused to explain.
