Chapter 2 - BEFORE I QUIT
Claire's first objective was simple.
Find out who had touched her workstation on September 8.
Mark told Jenna to remain at the desk while he took Claire to the security office three floors below.
He did not ask Human Resources for permission.
That mattered.
For the first time that morning, Claire felt as if someone inside Halcyon was standing beside her rather than across from her.
Luis Ortega, the building systems administrator, was halfway through a breakfast sandwich when Mark closed his office door.
“I need badge logs for workstation zone seven,” Mark said.
Luis looked at Claire's black funeral clothes, then at Mark.
“HR request?”
“No.”
Luis stopped chewing.
“Then I'm going to need a reason.”
Claire put the forged resignation letter on his desk.
Luis read two lines.
“That's a reason.”
He pulled up the access system.
Claire's badge showed no activity between September 4 and September 14.
Exactly as expected.
Her badge had remained inside her handbag throughout her mother's final days.
But on September 8, a temporary facilities credential had entered the seventh-floor office at 6:11 p.m.
The credential belonged to Building Services.
“Can you see who checked it out?” Claire asked.
Luis opened another screen.
The request had been submitted by Human Resources.
Requester: Nina Sloane.
Claire knew the name.
Nina was Halcyon's Director of Employee Operations.
They had spoken perhaps four times in six years.
“Why would the director of HR personally request a facilities badge to clear one analyst's desk?” Claire asked.
Luis glanced at Mark.
Mark said nothing.
The checkout note contained only four words.
Executive transition. Confidential handling.
Claire's stomach tightened.
“Can we see camera footage?”
Luis hesitated.
“I can see whether footage exists.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“No. It's the answer I can give without getting fired.”
He searched the archive.
September 8.
Seventh-floor east aisle.
The camera index appeared.
Then an error message.
FILE REMOVED PER LEGAL RETENTION EXCEPTION.
Mark leaned closer.
“Legal?”
Luis opened the audit trail.
The deletion had occurred on September 10.
Authorization: Office of General Counsel.
Claire knew the company's General Counsel only by reputation.
Adrian Voss.
He handled acquisitions, regulatory problems and anything executives wanted discussed behind closed doors.
Claire had never exchanged more than a greeting with him.
“Why would Legal delete footage of my desk?” she asked.
Luis sat back.
“That's no longer an HR question.”
Before Claire could answer, an email notification appeared on Mark's phone.
HR had sent the resignation workflow history.
Mark opened it.
Claire's account had submitted the resignation at 3:14 a.m.
Mark's credentials approved it at 3:25.
But there was a third entry.
At 3:31, an HR administrator manually overrode the mandatory exit interview.
At 3:34, another override waived equipment return.
At 3:41, Claire's mailbox was placed under retention lock.
“Mailbox?” Claire said.
Mark scrolled.
“Your email wasn't deleted.”
“Then why couldn't I log in this morning?”
Luis checked.
“Because your account was converted to legal hold.”
Claire stared at him.
“Legal hold means somebody wanted my email preserved.”
“Usually.”
“But they also wanted me unable to access it.”
Luis gave her a grim look.
“Also usually.”
Claire thought back through the last month.
She handled revenue forecasts, vendor-spend analysis and acquisition models. Nothing classified. Nothing that should have made General Counsel care whether she could open her inbox.
Then Mark said, “Your bereavement leave request.”
Claire looked at him.
“What about it?”
“When did you submit it?”
“September fourth. When my mother went into intensive care.”
Mark searched the workflow history.
Her leave request had been approved normally.
Two days later, on September 6, someone had opened Claire's employee profile from an administrative console.
September 7: a hiring requisition for Jenna was finalized.
September 8: Claire's desk was cleared.
September 9: the resignation was created.
September 10: security footage was deleted.
September 11: her separation code was generated.
This was not a mistake made after she disappeared from the office.
It was a sequence.
Someone had started building Claire's exit while her mother was still alive.
Mark stared at the dates.
“Jenna's offer was accepted August thirty-first.”
Claire looked at him.
“Before I even requested leave.”
The room went silent again.
That changed everything.
The company had not reacted to Claire's bereavement.
Whatever they were doing had started earlier.
Luis suddenly lifted a hand.
“There's something else.”
He had opened the internal mail-routing database.
“If somebody was holding your personal mail, there should be a transfer log.”
Claire moved beside him.
Three items had arrived for her while she was away.
A benefits statement.
A trade journal.
And on September 8 at 10:17 a.m., a Priority Mail envelope.
Sender:
MARGARET BENNETT.
Claire stopped breathing for a moment.
“My mother.”
Mark looked at her.
“She mailed something to you?”
“I don't know.”
September 8.
Two days before Margaret died.
Claire remembered sitting beside her hospital bed that afternoon. Her mother had been weak, barely finishing sentences.
She had never mentioned mailing anything.
Luis clicked the entry.
The envelope had not been delivered to Claire's desk.
Its route had been manually changed.
DESTINATION: HR EXECUTIVE OFFICE.
RECIPIENT SIGNATURE REQUIRED.
The electronic signature appeared beneath it.
NINA SLOANE.
Claire touched the screen as though the name might disappear.
Her mother had sent something to Claire's workplace.
May you like
HR had intercepted it.
And that same evening, HR had ordered Claire's desk cleared.
