Alexander looked up from his call the moment the door opened, and whatever he saw in Elena's face was enough to make him end the conversation mid-sentence, phone lowered before she'd said a single word.
"I'll call you back," he said into the receiver, already standing, already moving around his desk toward her. "Elena. What happened?"
She set the folder down on his desk without preamble, watching his expression shift as he read through the printouts — confusion first, then something colder, sharper, settling into focus.
"These are fabricated," he said, not a question.
"I believe so. Compliance is pulling the metadata now to confirm." Elena's voice was steadier than she felt, years of practice holding professional composure together even as everything underneath it threatened to c***k.
