“Can we read it without connecting to the internet?” I asked.

“Yes,” Sarah said, standing up and brushing dust from her jeans. “But we have to use an isolated machine.”

She walked over to a metal filing cabinet in the corner of her small office.

She unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out an older, thick Lenovo laptop.

“No Wi-Fi card inside this one,” she said. “I took it out physically last year.”

She set it on the desk and connected the silver drive using a thick grey cable.

The laptop whirred to life, its fan loud and steady in the small room.

Outside, rain began to slide down the windowpane in heavy, crooked lines.

I watched the screen as Sarah typed a series of command lines into a black window.

Columns of green and white text began to scroll down the screen.

“This is the archived routing log from the Harrington corporate server,” Sarah murmured. “Date-stamped October fourteenth, five years ago.”

The exact week my marriage fell apart.

“Look for the IP addresses assigned to the executive suite,” I said.