Harlan looked at him for a long moment. “You told me these programs were intact. You told me the layoffs were rumors.”
“They are strategic redeployments,” Chase said quickly. “It is what the market demands.”
“They are lies,” Harlan said softly.
Chase’s jaw tightened. “Are you really going to take the word of some kid who digs through trash over mine?”
Harlan closed the folder. He pressed a button on the phone.
“Bring the boy to my office,” he said. His voice carried the quiet weight of a decision.
Jace shuffled into the office like someone entering a cathedral. The room smelled of cedar and old leather, with sunlight spilling across model ships on a shelf. Harlan rose slowly, leaning on the edge of his desk for balance.
“You are Jace.” It was not a question.
“Yes, sir,” Jace replied. His voice cracked. He hated that it cracked.
“Tell me what you did,” Harlan asked.
“I found the envelope. I thought someone would want it back. That is all.”
Harlan studied him. “You could have left it. Why did you not?”
Jace hesitated. Memories of his mother’s voice swirled like dust in sunlight.
“If something is not yours,” he said, “you return it. That is what I was taught.”