“Did you give them to her?”

Miller led me down a narrow corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling metal shelving.

The air was thick with the smell of old paper, vinegar from decaying microfilm, and dust.

“I told her they were in deep storage,” he said.

“I told her it would take a week to retrieve the keys.”

“But you already have them, don’t you?” I asked.

He stopped at a heavy wooden desk at the end of the aisle.

An ancient green-screen terminal hummed on the corner of the desk.

“I kept the backup reels,” he said.

“Your father always told me to keep a physical copy of anything that went through the procurement board.”

“He didn’t trust the digital transition.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring of brass keys.

“The early Apex Horizon contracts,” I said.

“The ones from 2019.”

“I need to see who signed the initial development waivers.”

Miller looked at me, a deep sadness in his eyes.

“Eleanor, some things are better left in the dark,” he said.

“My husband is using those files to frame me, Miller,” I said.