“Is this enough to hold up in court?” I asked.

“With the digital signatures and the original server timestamps? Yes,” Sarah said. “It’s undeniable. Any forensic expert would see the fabrication in five minutes.”

“I need a hard copy,” I said. “And three encrypted backups.”

“I’ll write them to flash drives now,” Sarah said, reaching for a small box on her desk.

She began the file transfer, the progress bar moving slowly across the screen.

I walked over to the window and pushed one of the plastic slats down with my index finger.

The street below was grey and slick with rain.

A dark sedan was parked across the street, its hazard lights blinking slowly in the gathering dusk.

I watched the yellow light flash against the wet pavement.

My hand tightened on the window frame.

“Sarah,” I said quietly. “Did you notice that car when you came in?”

“No,” she said, not looking up from her screen. “There are always cars parked there. It’s a commercial block.”

The driver’s side door of the sedan opened.

A man in a dark trench coat stepped out, holding a large umbrella over his head.