Grant swore softly. "Who?"
"Helen Ward. The outside team."
"Tell them it's protected commercial information."
"They have authority to review it."
"Then give them a summary."
Victor stared at the wall. "They're asking for originals."
A pause.
"What about Julian?" Grant asked.
"He's cooperating."
"He'll protect you."
Victor closed his eyes. "I wouldn't assume that."
Grant's voice rose. "You told me this was under control."
"And you told me the transactions had been reconciled."
"They have. Mostly."
"What does mostly mean?"
"There are some historical entries we need time to explain."
Victor felt a sudden wave of nausea. For years he had let Grant use that phrase. Historical entries. Technical inconsistencies. Reconciliation timing. He now heard how empty the language was.
"Don't change anything," Victor said. "Don't contact the recordkeeping team. Don't give instructions that could interfere with the review."
Grant laughed angrily. "You're abandoning me?"
"I'm telling you not to make it worse."
"You approved the program, Victor. Your name is on the agreements."
"I know."
Grant hung up. Victor remained seated for a long time. Then he opened a drawer containing a photograph of his family taken at the beach. His wife was laughing. Their son, now a graduate student, held a melting ice cream. Victor put the picture face down because he could not bear to look at it while considering what the coming weeks might bring.
Across town, Claire Hart was trying to explain to Abigail why they would not be driving to the observatory that weekend.
"But you said the replacement car would be here," Abigail protested.
"It will be. The transportation company called, but the vehicle they first assigned wouldn't fit your chair comfortably. They're arranging another one."
"We could take a bus."
"The last bus comes back too early."
Abigail lowered her head. On the table lay a paper map of the observatory, marked with circles around the displays she wanted to see. Claire felt a sharp pang of guilt. She knew the disappointment was minor compared with the possibility that their car had been unsafe, but minor disappointments accumulated in families already stretched thin. She worked long shifts caring for other people's relatives and came home wanting to give her daughter something wonderful. Too often, what she could offer instead was an explanation about money, transport, or schedules.
A knock sounded at the door. Claire opened it to find Sofia Reyes standing on the porch with a woman from a local accessible-transportation company. Behind them waited a suitable replacement vehicle.
"I'm sorry this took longer than expected," Sofia said. "We wanted to make sure the vehicle would meet your needs. We can go over the equipment together before you decide whether it's suitable."
Claire crossed her arms. "I said I wanted things in writing."
Sofia held up a folder. "Everything is here. Temporary use, insurance information, contact numbers, and the inspection arrangements for your SUV."
Abigail appeared behind her mother. "Are we getting a spaceship?"
The transportation representative smiled. "Not quite. But there's a very good ramp."
Abigail rolled forward to inspect it. Claire watched her daughter laugh when the door opened automatically, then looked back at Sofia.
"I was so angry when your salesman pushed me toward the expensive SUV," she said. "But then I was relieved. He made me feel like finally somebody understood what we needed."
Sofia nodded. "I understand why that makes everything worse now."
"I don't want a better car because your owner feels guilty," Claire said. "I want to know what happened to the one you sold us. I want to know whether it was safe, and whether other families were sold cars like it."
"Those are exactly the questions being investigated," Sofia replied. "We'll tell you what the evidence shows, even if the answers are uncomfortable."
Claire studied her, searching for an easy promise or a reassuring phrase that concealed uncertainty. She found neither. At last she nodded and stepped aside so they could review the replacement vehicle.
As they checked the seating and equipment, Nathaniel waited at the end of the driveway in his pickup. He had asked to come because he wanted to meet Claire and Abigail, but Sofia had insisted he not make the delivery into a ceremonial visit from the owner. He appreciated her judgment. When she waved him over, he approached slowly, carrying no folder and wearing his usual coat.
"Mr. Reed," Claire said, recognizing the name from the letter she'd received. "I'm Claire Hart."
"I'm glad to meet you. How's your daughter?"
"Frustrated with all of us."
Abigail turned from the vehicle. "Not all of you. The ramp is pretty good."
Nathaniel smiled. "That's high praise."
"Are you really the person who owns all the dealerships?"