Nakamura’s anteroom was filled with the hush of vacancy and the repetitive clicks of the keyboard. His assistant looked up when Munroe entered, and seeing her, the woman stood. Hands placed on her thighs, she bowed and then with a gentle sweep of one hand she invited Munroe to the sitting space as if Munroe was a person most welcome.

“Nakamura-san is in a meeting now,” the assistant said. “Please wait if you can.”

“Will he be long?” Munroe said.

The woman’s bow dipped lower and her head bobbed in time with the apology. “I’m unsure,” she said. “I’m sorry, there are many appointments today.”

Munroe sat and the woman brought the tray with water and the doily, and the clock ticked around, burning off minutes as though they mattered not. Munroe drank in measured sips and the assistant replaced the empty glass with a full one. Munroe was on the third when Nakamura finally returned, wearing the harried look of a man running late.

He paused midstep when he saw her, then diverted to the seating area.

Munroe stood, shook his hand.

“Sadly, I’m on my way to another meeting,” he said.

“Ten minutes,” Munroe said. “It’ll be worth your time.”

Nakamura glanced at his watch and then, with a nod, invited her into his office. She sat without waiting for an offer. Her eyes focused on the desk in front of her while her ears tracked his movements about the room: jacket to coat rack, briefcase to receptacle, and then finally water poured into a glass that he carried to his desk.

“Tell me then,” he said, “what do you have for me?”

Munroe placed a file on the desk containing printouts and maps and copies of translated documents culled from her own material—together nearly an inch thick. She folded her hands atop it and said, “You told me once that industrial espionage has a long history and that if one refuses to adopt the weapons of his enemy, one will lose the battle.”

Nakamura took a long draw of water and set the glass on the desk.

She said, “The battle has come back around to you.”

He leaned into his chair, body angled away, and ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Is that meant to be taken as metaphor or literally?” he said.

“You’ve pointed me toward foreigners and foreign interests,” she said, “but it appears the culprit is one of your own—within the executive ranks.”

Nakamura winced as if she’d nicked him. He swiveled around to face her and stared at her long and hard. “This is a serious accusation,” he said.

“Yes, very serious.”

“When suspicion is cast, it is cast forever,” he said, “left to grow like weeds in a garden that put down deep roots. Knowing a thing, whether it’s true or not, gives that thing its own life. Before you divide from within my company, tell me, do you have evidence for what you will say?”

Munroe reconstructed his question into a promise of outright denial and rejection if he didn’t like what she’d brought. She said, “I’m confident enough that I consider my job finished here. Unless you have a reason to keep me on longer, I’ll need a day or two to tie up loose ends and then I’ll turn in my security badge.”

Nakamura glanced at his watch and then turned back to her and nodded at the documents beneath her hands.

“Will you leave those papers with me?”

“They won’t mean anything to you. The explanations are in here,” she said, and tapped her head.

As if the folder contradicted her words, he said, “Only in your head?”

She’d offered him the lie as an opportunity to silence her before she could share the information with others: a preemptive move against the possibility that Tagawa had merely been the most obvious player in a conspiracy of several.

“No one else in the facility is privy to this information,” she said, “if that’s what you mean.”

Nakamura took another sip of water and said, “Not exactly, but that certainly helps in damage containment.”

“I’ve already kept you past your meeting,” she said. “If you wish, I can return when it’s more convenient.”

Nakamura tilted his wrist to check the time again, but his focus was on the papers beneath her hands. “May I see them?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “But if you want them to mean anything, it would be better if I explain them as you do.”

He stood and loosened his tie, then walked from his side of the desk to hers. Her body tensed, ready to shift if he moved too close, and she tracked his hands and feet as he crossed the room.

Nakamura stepped out and shut the door.

Voices, muted and hushed, filtered in through the door; not whispers, but guarded speech that could have easily been spoken in her presence or on the phone if he’d not been concerned about her listening in.

The door opened. Nakamura’s footsteps carried him back to his desk and, once again in his seat, he said, “We won’t be disturbed, so take your time and tell me everything you’ve learned.”

Munroe opened the folder, and fingertips resting lightly on top of the documents as both tease and promise, she said, “Please withhold judgment until I’ve had a chance to lay out the facts as I know them.”

Nakamura folded his hands, matching the way hers had been, and he leaned forward to see better. She spun the first page around and pushed it toward him. His focus settled on the picture just long enough to register the face and then, eyes wide, his head jerked up and he pushed himself ever so slightly backward.

Munroe waited a beat and then began with the facts, much as she had with Bradford’s lawyer, adding details she’d neglected in the law office, but leaving out the hostess club, the trackers, the truth behind the attack in the garage that had led to Bradford’s car being reported stolen, and the issue of Nonomi Sato.

Nakamura asked questions. He stood. He sat. And stood again, arms crossed, pacing, as she led him along the trail, dot to dot and point to point, and when she was finished, she took the pages back, stacked them, and stuffed them inside the folder. Then she said, “What will you do?”

Nakamura turned from her, a smaller man than he’d been an hour ago, and stared at the wall as if the world pressed down on his shoulders and threatened to squash him. “It’s not my decision alone,” he said.

“There’s an innocent man sitting in jail right now.”

He stared out the window. “My responsibility is to the company.”

The unspoken was so loud he might as well have screamed. Going to the police about Tagawa’s theft wouldn’t happen because calling on the law would reveal his own company’s practices and open a whole other can of disgrace, loss of face, and legal action.

As far as Nakamura was concerned, Bradford was fucked.

That answered the issue of what she’d do about Nonomi Sato.

Munroe pushed back from the desk and stood. Picked up the folder and tucked it under her arm. “I understand your position,” she said.

Nakamura turned from the window. “Please leave the documents.”

Munroe returned the folder to the desk, let herself out, and left for the wall of monitors in the security room, where she and Okada could watch in real time as the puppets played to the pull of the strings.