It was a small change, almost invisible to someone who did not know what to look for. His jaw tightened, and the fingers resting beside his phone became perfectly still.
"Why do you know that name?"
Maya's heartbeat quickened.
There it was.
Recognition.
Not the mild curiosity of a man hearing a familiar name, but the guarded reaction of someone who had just realized that an unexpected witness had entered the room.
"I asked whether he was involved," she replied.
"And I asked why you know his name."
"Because my father knew him."
"Your father?"
"Daniel Bennett."
Adrian glanced at Richard.
The banker did not return his look.
Instead, Richard reached for the Japanese document and examined the signature at the bottom.
"Daniel Bennett," he repeated. "Was he an interpreter?"
Maya studied him.
"He was a translator and international negotiations specialist. He worked with Japanese companies for years."
"Worked with whom?" Adrian demanded.
"Several firms. I don't know all their names."
"That's convenient."
Maya felt the familiar sting of the accusation, but this time she refused to let it distract her.
"My father died three years ago. Before he died, he kept records of a business dispute involving a Japanese company. I never knew the full story. I only knew that it had cost him his career."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"And you think that has something to do with me?"
"I don't know yet."
"Then perhaps you should stop speculating."
"I would be happy to, if you could explain why your face changed when I mentioned Kenji Sato."
For several seconds, the only sound was the faint ticking of a clock mounted above the door.
Miles shifted uncomfortably.
"Adrian, maybe we should take a break."
"No."
Adrian did not look away from Maya.
He had built his career by keeping information compartmentalized. Different executives knew different pieces of a transaction. Lawyers handled documents. Consultants prepared reports. Investors received carefully selected summaries. He preferred it that way because a person who controlled the flow of information could often control the outcome.
But Maya had crossed a boundary he had not expected her to see.
The name Kenji Sato belonged to a dispute that had taken place long before his current company became what it was. It involved a failed technology partnership, a missing set of technical specifications, and allegations that had quietly ruined the reputation of an American translator whose work had been central to the negotiations.
Adrian had not personally conducted those negotiations. At the time, he had been a junior executive, ambitious and eager to prove himself. He had inherited the consequences of the dispute along with the company's records, and he had been told that the matter was settled.
He had never examined the original Japanese correspondence.
He had never needed to.
Or so he had believed.
"Richard," he said, finally turning toward the banker, "did we retain the historical records from the Sato negotiations?"
Richard hesitated.
"I believe so."
"You believe so?"
"They were transferred to the legal archive after the restructuring."
"Then find them."
"Not tonight."
"Tonight."
Richard looked at Eleanor.
She gave him a small, reluctant nod.
"I'll contact the archive team in the morning," Richard said.
Adrian's expression sharpened.
"I didn't ask you to contact anyone tomorrow. I asked you to find them."
"Adrian, the archive is managed by outside counsel. We can't simply—"
"Then call outside counsel."
Eleanor interrupted before the argument could escalate.
"We can request the files, but we need to know exactly what we're looking for. Maya has identified a potential discrepancy in the current translation. That is a separate issue from whatever happened twenty years ago."
She turned to Maya.
"Do you remember the nature of your father's dispute?"
Maya looked down at the letter.
"Not clearly. He rarely spoke about it. When I was younger, I knew only that he had lost his job and that people who used to call him stopped calling. Later, I learned that he had been accused of deliberately mistranslating a confidential agreement."
"Was he formally charged with fraud?" Eleanor asked.
"No. But his professional reputation was destroyed. The agencies that had hired him stopped accepting his applications. A university withdrew an offer to teach a translation course. People who had praised his work suddenly acted as though they had never known him."
Her voice remained controlled, but the memories had begun to surface with uncomfortable clarity.
"My mother worked extra shifts to pay the bills. My father kept telling us that the truth would eventually come out. He said the original documents would prove that he had done nothing wrong."
"What happened to the documents?" Richard asked.
"I don't know. He kept some of them at home. Others were stored with an attorney, I think. After he died, my mother and I sorted through his belongings, but there were gaps in the records."
"Did he ever mention Blackwood Industries?" Eleanor asked.
Maya turned toward her.
"Yes."
The answer landed heavily.
Adrian rose from his chair.
"Enough."
He walked to the mirror at the far end of the room and stared at his own reflection. The warm lights picked out the lines of his face and the precise cut of his suit. Behind him, the others waited.