Michael stayed in his office long after the preservation demand arrived.
Clara had expected him to call legal again. She expected another round of orders, another list of names, another demand that someone find out who had recorded him. Instead, he stood by the window with the first page of the letter in his hand, reading the same lines until the paper bent under his grip.
Marissa Cole.
Elena Voss.
Caleb Rourke.
Three unnamed claimants.
The unnamed ones were the problem. The named ones were bad enough, but unknown people gave the whole thing a shape he could not control. He could attack a face. He could ruin a name. He could dig through an old file and find something to leak.
He could not hit a blank space.
Outside his office, the floor was too quiet. Staff moved carefully and avoided his door. The broken glass had been cleaned, but everyone knew why facilities had been called. Everyone knew his voice was online now.
