What Foster Found
Foster Lin ran ops-adjacent IT for the twenty-second floor and owed Naomi a favor from the time she'd covered his shift during his sister's wedding. She found him at his standing desk, three monitors deep in a networking diagram.
"I need something and I can't explain it in the hallway," she said.
He rolled his chair back. "That's how every bad story starts."
She told him — the deleted thread, the 2 a.m. login, the deck with her name nowhere on it. Foster's face went from amused to still.
"Email retention here is ninety days unless legal holds it," he said. "If it's really gone gone, someone with admin access pulled it inside that window. That's not an accident. That's a person doing a thing."
"Can you get it back?"
"Maybe. Backups exist somewhere nobody remembers to check." He was already typing. "But Naomi — if I go digging in Graham Sutter's mail logs and it gets back to him, that's not a slap on the wrist. That's a locked-badge, security-walks-you-out kind of problem. For both of us."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you've got the look of someone who thinks this is about one deck."
She didn't answer that, because she wasn't sure it wasn't true.
It took him forty minutes. He didn't find the email — that copy was well and truly scrubbed — but the search kicked up something else: an old HR exit file, misfiled under a project code instead of a name, attached to an employee who'd left the company six years earlier. Odalys Kerrigan. Senior data analyst. Termination reason: mutual separation.
Attached to the file was a single scanned page, a non-disparagement addendum, signed in a hand that looked rushed, dated the same week as her last day. A note scrawled in the margin, in different handwriting, read: client wants this closed quietly — G.S. approved.
Foster turned the monitor toward her. "Naomi. I don't think you're the first person this happened to."