Nobody on the thirty-first floor spoke for a long moment. The district attorney’s team had gone down in the elevator with their prisoner, and the corridor held only the people who had walked into this building as accusers and now stood among overturned chairs and the faint smell of cologne, looking at one sheet of yellowed paper.
“It’s a master services renewal,” Odalys said at last. Her voice was thin but controlled. “Frostvane Holdings retained a facilities subcontractor to maintain the ice-making plant. This is the renewal for that year. Eleven days before the game.”
“And Whitmore signed it,” Kess said.
“As chair of the holding company, yes.” Odalys turned the page toward the light. “I’ve read this file forty times and always assumed it was a corporate formality. It was one of nine h
