Brad smirked. “Two sugars, no cream, and try not to spill it on the prototype schematics, hon. They’re classified.” The room laughed. I nodded, walked out, and took the elevator down to the lobby cafe. I came back six minutes later with a single paper cup, which I set in front of him with the same polite smile. Then I walked to the head of the table, unclipped the visitor badge, and pulled my actual credentials from my blazer pocket. The CEO, Marcus, stood up immediately. “Dr. Vance, thank you for coming on such short notice. Everyone, this is the propulsion engineer who designed the Halcyon-9 combustion core. The board retained her personally to audit why our launch keeps failing.” The color drained from Brad’s face in real time, like someone had pulled a plug. I opened my notebook. “Before we begin, I’d like to address the schematics Brad mentioned. I reviewed them on the flight in. The miscalculation in the secondary injector ratio is the reason your last three test fires aborted. It’s a freshman-level error. Whoever signed off on them should not be in this room.” Brad’s signature was on page one. He started to stammer something about context, about how he didn’t realize, about how it was just a joke. I didn’t interrupt. I just waited, the way you wait for a kettle to finish screaming. Marcus turned to him slowly. “Brad. Wait outside.” “Marcus, come on, I was just—” “Wait. Outside.” Brad gathered his laptop with shaking hands. As he passed me, I picked up the coffee cup I’d brought him and held it out. “Two sugars, no cream. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste, hon.” He took it. He had to. The room was silent until the door clicked shut behind him. Then Marcus exhaled and said, “Dr. Vance, please. Take his chair.” I did. Three weeks later, Helix announced a new lead engineer for the Halcyon program. The press release used my full title. I framed it above my desk, right next to the visitor badge.
