Lynn stared at the email.
His finger rested on the mouse.
It was here.
Beside him, Kevin whispered, “Is something about to blow up?” Amy pulled off her headphones.
“Who?” Kevin lowered his voice.
“A-Train.” Amy frowned.
“Didn’t he tweet yesterday that he was in peak condition?” Kevin smirked slightly.
“Hero in peak condition, legal emails turning bright red.
Classic Vought.” Martha’s office door opened.
All three of them shut up immediately.
Martha walked out holding a cup of coffee, her face expressionless.
But she hadn’t taken a single sip today, holding the mug firmly in her hands.
“Listen up, everyone.” The Archives Department fell silent.
“A litigation hold notice regarding A-Train has just been issued.
No guessing, no forwarding, no discussing on the internal chat apps.
Stick strictly to archiving within your permissions.
Kevin, training attendance catalog.
Amy, PR asset citations.
Lynn, you check the incident template index and medical cross-reference catalog.
Do not open restricted files.” She looked at Lynn.
“Catalog only.” “Understood.” Martha glanced at everyone again.
“I mean it—don’t open them.” Kevin muttered softly, “Got it.” Martha looked at him.
Kevin immediately sat up straight.
“Loud and clear.” Once the tasks were handed out, the office was even quieter than usual.
Nobody was talking about the printer anymore.
Lynn opened the restricted catalog index.
There were twice as many files related to A-Train compared to yesterday.
Performance Review.
Cardiac Monitoring.
Compound Interaction Risk.
Public Collision Response.
Family Liaison Script Draft.
The last item made him stare for two seconds.
Family Liaison.
Next-of-kin liaison script.
The story hadn’t even broken yet, and the script was already written.
He didn’t click it.
He just cross-checked the reference numbers against the index sheet.
He scrolled down.
Another entry: **Civilian Impact | High-Speed Event | Template B** Template B.
Lynn took his hand off the mouse and stretched his fingers.
Too tight.
His knuckles ached slightly.
Kevin leaned over a bit.
“What do you see?” Lynn turned to glance at him.
Kevin immediately raised his hands.
“Just asking.” “Don’t ask.” “Fine.” Kevin leaned back, and after a few seconds, whispered, “Sometimes I really feel like our department is just cataloging dead people’s belongings.” Amy didn’t look up.
“You only just realized that today?” Kevin shut his mouth.
Lynn resumed checking.
At 11:30 AM, Media Relations called.
The voice on the other end was fast-paced, sounding like someone whose hair was on fire.
“Archives?
We need the archive path for A-Train’s high-res charity event footage from the past three months.” Lynn glanced at the workflow chart.
“That requires legal authorization.” “It’s just charity material.” “After a hold notice is issued, accessing related material requires authorization.” The caller took a sharp breath.
“We’re pulling together a positive coverage compilation to show the VP right now.” “Send the authorization.” “What’s your name?” “Lynn.” “Lynn, do you realize this is going to slow down the entire process?” “Yes.” Two seconds of silence on the line.
“I’ll send an email.” The line went dead.
Amy spared a sliver of attention from her headphones.
“Media Relations?” “Yeah.” “They probably want to murder someone right now.” Lynn logged the call details in the memo.
“They can get in line.” Amy let out a brief laugh.
After laughing, she went back to work.
At noon, Martha called Lynn into her office.
The office was a bit warmer than outside, but the air felt stale.
Folders were piled on the desk alongside an unopened pack of painkillers.
Martha shut the door.
“Did you handle that call from Media Relations this morning?” “I did.” “They complained you were stalling the workflow.” “I followed the litigation hold protocol.” “I know.” Martha picked up her mug, then set it back down.
“Next time you get a call like that, tell them to talk to me.” Lynn nodded.
“Okay.” Martha looked at him and suddenly asked, “Are you in some kind of trouble lately?” Lynn hadn’t expected her to ask that.
He didn’t answer right away.
Martha didn’t rush him either, merely flipping through a folder on her desk.
“Kevin talks too much.
He mentioned someone scammed you out of money.” Lynn was silent for a second.
“A personal debt issue.
I’ll handle it—it won’t affect my work.” “It better not,” Martha said.
Her tone was still cool.
But she took out a sticky note from her drawer and wrote down a name and email address.
“Employee Assistance Program.
Free legal consultation.
Quality is mediocre, but it’s better than searching blindly online.” Lynn took the sticky note.
The handwriting was small.
“Thank you.” Martha waved her hand.
“Don’t thank me too soon.
Free stuff at Vought comes with boundaries.
Don’t blab about things you shouldn’t.” “Understood.” “Go on.
Give me that A-Train catalog before the end of the day.” Lynn stood up.
Before he opened the door, Martha added, “And don’t bring personal trouble into the office.” Lynn paused.
“I’ll try.” Martha looked up at him.
“Not ‘try’.” Lynn nodded.
“Got it.” Back at his workstation, he slipped the note into a paper notebook—he didn’t enter it into the system, nor did he take a picture.
At 3:00 PM, Marcus sent his first message.
Just one line: > Bruce Hall.
Confirmed.
Has done outsourced collections for three payday loan outfits; appeared alongside Daniel Pierce on at least two small business loan applications.
Lynn stared at his phone.
Beside him, Kevin sneezed and cursed the AC.
Lynn turned his phone face down on the desk.
A few minutes later, he picked it up again and replied: > Got it.
Keep looking into the victims.
Marcus replied quickly: > This isn’t a five-hundred-dollar job.
Lynn glanced at his bank balance.
Replied: > Put it on tab.
Marcus sent a middle-finger emoji.
Then followed up: > Got one name for you tonight.
Lynn tucked his phone away.
Outside in the corridor, commotion suddenly picked up.
A few people rushed past from the PR department, some holding tablets, others talking on their phones as they walked.
“Don’t use the word ‘accident’.” “Wait for Legal first.” “Contact A-Train’s team, ask where he is right now.” The last sentence made Lynn’s fingers freeze.
He raised his head.
Martha stepped out of her office too.
Their eyes met.
She said nothing.
She simply reached out and closed the office glass door.
At 4:27 PM, Legal sent another email.
Even shorter.
**Permissions for A-Train-related materials escalated.
All catalog access logs will be retained.** Lynn closed the current page.
He didn’t linger.
The instant the computer screen went dark, he caught sight of his reflection.
A bit pale.
He reached over, picked up the gross cookie Amy had given him, and took a bite.
Still nauseatingly sweet.
But at least it helped suppress the hollow feeling in his stomach.
His phone buzzed.
It wasn’t Marcus.
It was Daniel.
> Don’t bring anyone on Friday.
> I’m really not kidding about this.
Lynn looked at the message.
Replied with one word: > Okay.
After sending it, he put the phone down.
No explanation.
No questions.
No actual promises.
The screen went dark.
The storm inside Vought was brewing.
And so was the one on Daniel’s side.
Sitting under the cool white lights of the Archives Department, Lynn cross-checked the final reference number for the A-Train incident template and sent it off to Martha.
Once the email was sent, he leaned back in his chair.
His shoulders were a bit stiff.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
It didn’t help.
Still tight.