Then Vivian said The board has asked me to offer you a consulting position. Independent. Contract-based. "One condition," Reed said. Full technical transparency with an independent audit committee.
No internal gatekeeping on safety reviews. "Done," Vivian said. I wrote that requirement into the proposal myself. He picked up the folder he had set against the wall and walked toward the exit. "Mr. Callahan," Vivian said.
He stopped but did not turn. I'm sorry about the receiving entrance comment. I didn't know who you were. "No," he agreed. He opened the door and went out into the afternoon.
The NDA was formally voided 3 weeks later. That night, Reed told Wren what had happened at Ashcroft. What her mother had done. What her mother had written on the morning she died. Wren listened without interrupting.
At the end, she said So Mom already knew it was dangerous and she told them and they didn't listen. Yes. And now they fixed it. Yes. She was quiet for a moment.
"Then she did fix it," Wren said. "Just later." Reed had sat with that for a long time. On a Saturday morning 3 weeks after the board meeting, Vivian Ashcroft drove herself to Pete's garage. She came alone in jeans and a light jacket and stood in the open bay door looking in.
Wren was in the driver's seat of Pete's old Volvo wagon practicing clutch and gearshift under Reed's direction, focused in the manner of a person taking a test she has been studying for. She did not immediately notice the woman in the bay door. Reed saw Vivian. He looked at her for a moment and said nothing. His way of leaving a space someone else could choose to enter or not.
Vivian stepped into the garage. Wren looked over. "Hi." "Hi." Vivian said.
"Are you here about the work thing?" "With my dad?" "Sort of." Vivian sat down on an old wooden tool chest near the wall. She had not been invited.