Adrian listened without interrupting.
"He was particularly careful about written records. If a meeting became contentious, he would write a detailed account afterward. He kept copies of correspondence, notes about terminology, and explanations for difficult phrases. He said that memories could be challenged, but a well-preserved record was harder to dismiss."
"Did he ever tell you what happened with Blackwood Industries?"
"Not in detail."
"Did he accuse anyone of wrongdoing?"
Maya hesitated.
"Yes."
Adrian's expression tightened.
"Who?"
"I don't remember the full name. I remember that he said someone had changed the English version of an agreement after the Japanese representatives had approved the original."
"Changed it how?"
"He said a condition had been removed."
"What condition?"
"I don't know."
Adrian looked away.
The words struck closer to the current problem than he wanted to admit.
Maya continued.
"My father said the altered document made it appear that the Japanese company had agreed to transfer certain rights without the protections they had originally negotiated. When the dispute became public, he was blamed for the discrepancy."
"And Kenji Sato?"
"My father believed Mr. Sato knew the translation had been changed."
"Did he?"
"I don't know."
"Did your father have proof?"
"He believed he did."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Adrian exhaled sharply.
"That's not much to work with."
"It's what I remember."
He paced a short distance, then turned back.
"Do you have any documents at home?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly?"
"My mother and I kept several boxes of his papers. Some are organized, some aren't. I haven't examined every page."
"Could you look through them?"
Maya studied him.
"Why?"
"Because the current agreement may be affected by the same issue."
"Or because you want to find out whether my father can be blamed for something your company did?"
Adrian stopped pacing.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He stared at her, and for a moment his anger returned. It would have been easy to respond with authority, to remind her that he was the person who controlled the company and that she had no evidence against him.
But he had asked for her help.
And she had given him something more useful than reassurance: a reason to question the story he had inherited.
"I don't know what happened twenty years ago," he said finally. "I want to know."
"Then start by examining your own records."
"We are doing that."
"Good."
"And if the records show that your father was treated unfairly?"
Maya's expression did not change.
"Then the people responsible should correct the record."
"What would that mean to you?"
The question caught her off guard.
She had spent years imagining what she would say if someone finally acknowledged the injustice her father had endured. In her private thoughts, she had delivered eloquent speeches about reputation, accountability, and the cost of destroying a person's livelihood.
But standing in front of Adrian Blackwood, she found that the words did not come easily.
"My father spent the last years of his life believing that people considered him dishonest," she said quietly. "He knew he hadn't done what they accused him of doing. But knowing the truth and being believed are two different things."
Adrian remained still.
"He lost work. He lost friends. He stopped accepting invitations because he didn't want to see the expression people wore when they remembered his name. Even after he became ill, he worried that my mother and I would have to carry the shame he believed others had placed on us."
She looked directly at Adrian.
"If your company contributed to that, correcting the record would mean admitting that he deserved the respect he was denied."
The silence between them grew.
Adrian had spent much of his career discussing corporate responsibility as an abstract concept. He had approved settlements, signed public statements, and attended meetings where the cost of a mistake was reduced to a line in a financial report.
Maya had made the consequences personal.
He thought of the old dispute, the summary he had read years ago, and the executive who had assured him that the matter was closed.
He had never asked what happened to the translator.
He had never asked whether the accusation was justified.
He had simply accepted the version of events that required the least effort.
"I can't promise you what the records will show," he said.
"I haven't asked you to."
"But if there was wrongdoing, I won't ignore it."
Maya watched him carefully.
It was the first thing he had said that sounded less like a negotiation and more like a commitment.
"Then don't ignore it," she replied.
Adrian glanced at his watch.
Their ten minutes were nearly over.
He reached into his jacket and took out a business card. He placed it on the small table between them.
"This is my direct number. If you find anything connected to the Sato agreement, contact me."
Maya looked at the card but did not pick it up.
"I won't hand over my father's personal documents without understanding what they contain."