I moved into a sublet above a bakery on the west side of Bellwether Bay.
The apartment was small, warm, and smelled faintly of yeast. I could hear delivery trucks before sunrise and the baker downstairs humming through the floor. It was the first place in years where no one knew which family had given me a key.
I still had access to the archive room for the moment. I arrived early, before Sebastian, and made a full inventory of the relevant records: the original April minutes, the recording, the misfiled letter, the repair estimates, the access log, and my own written report.
I didn't take anything out of the archive. I created a read-only file set on the foundation server and sent the board chair a message asking her to preserve the materials pending the meeting.
The chair replied tha
