The next morning, Daniel filed an emergency motion to preserve the contents of the Crown Ridge account. By noon, Judge Hayes had granted a limited order preventing removal or destruction of documents pending review.
By three o’clock, Crown Ridge Archives claimed there had been a sprinkler malfunction in the wing where Whitaker Holdings stored its materials.
Daniel called me with the news.
“No,” I said immediately.
“I don’t believe it either,” he replied.
“How bad?”
“They’re saying several boxes sustained water damage. Digital drives were stored separately and are supposedly intact, but we need independent verification.”
“Supposedly,” I repeated.
“I’m going there with a court-appointed examiner tomorrow morning.”
“I’m coming.”
There was a pause.
“Iris—”
“I am coming.”
This time, Daniel did not argue.
Crown Ridge Archives sat beyond the city limits, past a line of bare sycamore trees and a gated road marked PRIVATE PROPERTY. The building itself looked more like a museum than a storage facility: limestone facade, tinted windows, discreet cameras tucked under the eaves. It was the kind of place wealthy people used when they wanted to hide things in plain sight.
