The Knock
I mailed the evidence before I went to work the next morning — printed copies to my own apartment as backup, a full digital file to the state safety division's direct investigator line Priya had given me, and, because Priya insisted, a copy to a labor reporter she'd once worked with at a previous job.
"Belt and suspenders," she said. "Companies bury complaints. Reporters don't."
I badged into Corvale at 8:58, two minutes before my shift, and made it exactly to my desk before Corinne appeared beside me, no smile this time.
"My office. Now."
Voss was already there, standing rather than sitting, arms crossed. On the desk between them sat a printed screenshot — my badge access log, timestamped for every night I'd been in the archive, alongside a printout of an email I'd sent from my personal account, the one attaching photographs to the state investigator.
"You accessed restricted personnel files and removed proprietary company documents," Voss said. "That's grounds for immediate termination, and depending on what you've sent out, possibly a civil suit for breach of your temp agreement's confidentiality clause."
"Those aren't personnel files. They're safety reports. There's a difference, legally, and you know it."
"I know that you're a temp with eleven months of experience threatening a company that was about to make you permanent." His voice stayed level, almost kind, which was somehow worse than shouting. "Think very carefully about what you do next."
I was still deciding what to say when the office phone on Corinne's desk rang. She answered it clipped, professional — and then went very still, the color leaving her face in a slow wave.
She set the phone down without hanging it up properly.
"There are two state inspectors at the front gate," she said. "They're asking for the personnel files on the Site 4 equipment maintenance history. And Gerald—" her voice dropped. "They said this isn't their first visit to a Corvale facility this year."
Voss's jaw tightened. For the first time since I'd met him, he didn't have anything to say.