15
Maceo
The figures aren’t estimates. They match the internal forecast Blake revised ten days ago, including a cost adjustment that exists only in the restricted corporate directory, which means Victor shouldn’t have them.
I pull the grant-portal access logs onto the second monitor and begin tracing every authenticated session that reached the connected directory before the bridge was isolated. The portal itself contains approved donor records, expansion budgets, and administrative reports. Ember House’s resident histories, clinical files, and trauma documentation were never connected to it. The weakness sat behind the portal: a misconfigured route into a separate Keller Industries directory containing philanthropic projections and internal financial planning.
The logs show that the unreleased forecast was opened through that route during a session authenticated throughJosie’s Ember House work account. Her credentials gave her valid access to the grant platform, but they didn’t authorize her to enter the Keller directory or open the forecast.
Her credentials didn’t give her permission to open the Keller file. They gave her a valid entrance to the grant platform, and she used the connected directory to move beyond the limits of her role.
I preserve the login records, the directory request, and the file-access timestamp before I contact Keller Industries’ security lead. Nothing changes until the evidence has been copied, verified, and sealed against later alteration.
By the time I close the last confirmation window, dawn has begun thinning the darkness beyond the office windows.
The house is already waking when I enter the kitchen with Victor’s filing and the verified logs tucked inside a plain folder. Grayson stands at the stove in a soft gray shirt, stirring eggs while Rosalie explains from the table that James has taken the cup she wanted even though there are four identical cups beside him.
James holds his cup against his chest. “This one’s mine.”
“They’re the same,” Samuel says around a bite of toast.
“They’re not,” Rosalie insists. “Mine has a tiny scratch.”
Luther bends over the table and turns the cup in James’s hands until the scratch appears near the base. His mouth presses briefly against Rosalie’s hair before he slides the cup toward her and gives James another one from the stack. “Okay, baby. You’ve got the scratched one. James has the other blue one.”
James examines the replacement with deep suspicion, then accepts it when Blake reaches across the table and taps the side with one finger.
“This one has a bubble in the glass,” Blake tells him. “That makes it rarer.”
James’s expression brightens immediately.
Luca sits beside Blake with one leg tucked beneath him, stealing pieces of fruit from the plate between them while Blake pretends not to notice. I should feel out of place standing in the doorway with a folder full of evidence while breakfast continues around me. I don’t. Grayson looks up, sees my face, and sets the spoon down.
He crosses the kitchen before asking anything. One hand closes around my wrist while he kisses my forehead, lingering long enough that some of the pressure behind my eyes loosens.
“You’ve been up all night,” he murmurs.
“I found the access.”
His fingers tighten once. He doesn’t ask for the details with the children still listening. Instead, he guides me toward the empty chair beside him and sets a plate in front of me before returning to the stove.
Luther closes the folder beneath his palm when Rosalie leans across the table to ask whether she can have more jam. “Okay, sweetheart. Sit back down, and I’ll pass it to you.”
The conversation stays buried until the children finish eating. Grayson wipes jam from Samuel’s wrist, Luca helps Rosalie fix the braid she slept in, and Blake cuts James’s toast into smaller pieces after he decides the corners are too hard. I keep Victor’s filing covered beneath my hand while the kitchen moves around it.
When the children carry their plates toward the sink, Luther redirects them toward the playroom with a promise that Grayson will bring the strawberries they’ve already asked for three times. Samuel comes back for his dinosaur, Rosalie comes back because Samuel came back, and James appears last to announce that he never left.
By the time the playroom door closes, Grayson has placed fresh fruit at the far end of the table and turned the stove down.He sits beside me, his knee pressed to mine, while Luther moves behind Luca’s chair and rests one hand across the back of his shoulders.
I open the folder.
“The figures in Victor’s new filing came from Blake’s unreleased forecast,” I say, turning the projection and the access log toward them together. “The file was opened through the grant portal’s bridge into the Keller directory. The session belongs to Josie’s Ember House account.”
Blake takes the filing first. His expression doesn’t change while he compares Victor’s paragraph to the adjustment he made in the internal forecast. He circles the matching number, then passes the page to Luca without looking away from the timestamp.
Luther’s hand stays on Luca’s shoulder as he reads. His fingers flex once against the sweater beneath his palm. “She shouldn’t go back into Ember House.”
Luca doesn’t pull away from him. He leans back into the touch while scanning the log again. “We know she opened the projection. We don’t know who asked for it, how she transferred it, or what else she’s been told to find.”
