Greer arrived at nine.
He carried the Hartley motion, the witness statement summary, and the expression of a man who had spent his morning processing something ugly.
We sat in the living room — Lucian, Greer, and me. Not the office. Three people around the low table with coffee and documents and a threat that felt deeply personal.
Greer laid it out.
Hartley’s witness statement claimed direct knowledge of irregularities in the Luxembourg analysis — that I had access to Voss systems before my official start date, allowing me to manipulate timestamps.
It was precise. Targeted. Fabricated.
My stomach twisted violently. Panic clawed up my throat. My hands started shaking so badly I had to press them against my thighs under the table.
“He has no basis,” I said, trying to keep my voice ste
