The folder finally opened at 11:58 p.m.
The program simply finished its last run, and suddenly the files sat there on my screen, plain and waiting.
I had chased this moment for six long weeks.
For a second I just sat still, staring at the list of documents. Then I started reading.
Eleven years of private messages. Emails between Dominic and Hargreave, memos that moved through the hidden parts of the company, orders that were sent out and followed by people who never imagined anyone outside their tight circle would ever see them.
They were wrong.
The very first file was from fifteen years ago, only four short sentences. Dominic wrote to Hargreave: the investment had collapsed, they could not admit it, and they needed a way to make the entire loss vanish.
Four sentences. That was how
