The folder hit Adam’s desk with a crack that echoed through the room, loud enough to make him flinch.
“Care to explain,” I said, voice sharp and clipped, “why your credentials were used to rewrite voting logs?”
He blinked at me, slow and stupid. Or pretending to be. His fingers tensed where they rested on the keyboard, as if calculating whether he could fake his way out of this.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, tone falsely light.
I didn’t bother sitting. My hand gripped the back of the chair across from him as I leaned in. “Don’t play dumb. Emma pulled your keystrokes. We have everything.”
He froze. There it was—the flicker of panic, quick and undeniable, behind the eyes.
“I left my laptop unattended,” he offered quickly. “Anyone could have—”
“Enough.” I stepped
