If the investigation went badly, Arthur would blame him.
The false warranty reports carried Brandon's signature.
The customer complaints had been altered under his credentials.
The unauthorized payments had flowed through accounts connected to his name.
He had believed those arrangements made him important.
Now he understood they made him useful as a scapegoat.
He opened his laptop and searched for flights.
Dallas.
Phoenix.
Miami.
Anywhere he could disappear for a while.
His phone rang.
Conrad Voss.
Brandon ignored it.
The phone rang again.
He declined the call.
A message appeared.
We need to talk. Today.
Brandon stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Don't make a mistake.
His stomach tightened.
He closed the laptop.
Perhaps running was not possible.
Perhaps there was only one person who could help him.
He searched his contacts.
Richard Hayes.
Brandon hesitated.
Richard had never liked him.
He considered Brandon arrogant, manipulative, and too willing to sacrifice customer relationships for commissions.
But Richard also knew the company.
He understood its hierarchy.
And he might know whether Walter Sterling was willing to listen.
Brandon pressed call.
Richard answered after several rings.
"What do you want, Brandon?"
Brandon swallowed.
"I need to speak to Mr. Sterling."
Richard was silent.
"Why?"
"Because I know things."
"What things?"
Brandon looked toward the window.
"Things about Blackthorn."
Richard's voice sharpened.
"Then you need to speak to the investigators."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm involved."
There was a long pause.
Then Richard said, "How involved?"
Brandon closed his eyes.
"Enough that I think someone might try to hurt me if I talk."
Richard exhaled slowly.
"Where are you?"
"At home."
"Stay there."
"Richard—"
"Don't delete anything. Don't call Conrad. Don't contact Arthur. I'm going to give you Eleanor Price's office number. Tell her exactly what you've told me."
Brandon looked down at his shaking hands.
"Will Mr. Sterling fire me?"
Richard was silent for a moment.
"Brandon, I think you need to start worrying about something more important than your job."
Walter spent that morning in the old workshop behind his home.
It was the only building on his property that Margaret had never allowed anyone to renovate.
She had understood what the place meant to him.
The walls were lined with tools he had owned since his twenties.
A heavy wooden workbench stood beneath the windows.
Shelves held boxes of old components, model engines, and forgotten experiments.
In one corner sat a motorcycle covered with a gray cloth.
Walter had not touched it in years.
He had entered the workshop intending to review Tommy's drawings.
Instead, he found himself standing before the covered motorcycle.
His heart began to pound.
He reached for the cloth.
Then hesitated.
The accident returned in fragments.
The shuddering frame.
The screech of tires.
The violent impact.
The sensation of being thrown into the air.
He pulled his hand back.
For twenty years, he had avoided sitting on a motorcycle.
He could design them.
Inspect them.
Build them.
He could watch other people ride.
But whenever he imagined taking the handlebars himself, his body remembered the crash before his mind could reason through the fear.
He sat heavily on a stool.
His right knee ached.
Outside, wind moved through the trees.
He thought about Tommy's letter.
If you still have time, ride again.
Walter closed his eyes.
"I'm trying, Tommy."
His phone rang.
Eleanor.
He answered.
"Tell me you have good news."
"I have complicated news."
Walter sighed.
"That's usually your favorite kind."
"Brandon Pierce wants to cooperate."
Walter became still.
"The salesman?"
"Yes."
"What does he know?"
"Enough to make our accountants very interested."
"Can we trust him?"
"I wouldn't use that word yet. He has admitted to misconduct and is looking for legal advice. Any agreement about cooperation needs to be handled properly."
Walter nodded.
"What did he say?"
"He claims Conrad Voss directed the manipulation of customer complaints and warranty records. He also says the bonuses came from a company connected to Blackthorn."
"Did he give you evidence?"
"Some. Bank statements, messages, and transaction records. We're working to verify them."
Walter exhaled.
"And Arthur?"
"Brandon says Conrad frequently described the instructions as coming from Arthur. That's not direct proof Arthur gave every instruction, but it gives us leads."
Walter leaned back.
"What else?"
Eleanor hesitated.
"Arthur has moved the anniversary presentation to tomorrow."
Walter frowned.
"Without asking me?"
"Apparently."
"Why?"
"There's going to be a major announcement involving an international licensing arrangement for the Heritage technology."
Walter stared at the covered motorcycle.
"Who approved that?"
"That's what we're investigating."
He rose from the stool.
"Eleanor, how much time do we have?"
"Before the announcement? Roughly thirty-six hours."
Walter considered the situation.
Arthur was accelerating his plans.
That meant he was frightened.
And frightened people sometimes made mistakes.
"Call the audit committee."
"Already done."
"Get the independent engineers."
"They're examining the samples."
"Find every contract connected to the licensing agreement."
"We're working on it."
Walter smiled faintly.
"Remind me why I pay you so much."
"Because I started doing all of those things before you asked."
He chuckled.
Then Eleanor became serious.
"Walter, there's one more thing."
"What?"
"I've found evidence that Blackthorn Industrial Solutions is connected to a company called Meridian Strategic Holdings."
Walter frowned.
"Never heard of it."
"That's understandable. It's buried beneath several layers of ownership."
"Who owns it?"
"Victor Kane has a substantial indirect interest."
Walter went silent.
The name was familiar.
He remembered Victor Kane from a dinner in New York nearly twenty-five years earlier.
A wealthy investor.
An aggressive businessman.
A man who had suggested Sterling Crown should abandon its older motorcycle lines and focus exclusively on high-margin luxury products.
Walter had rejected the suggestion.
He remembered telling Victor that motorcycles should not become trophies for people who had more money than riding experience.
Victor had smiled.
But there had been no warmth in his eyes.
"Victor Kane," Walter repeated.
"Yes."
"He and Arthur have known each other for years."
"Apparently."