I arrived at the loft’s conference room a few minutes early. The folder in my hands felt heavier than its physical weight, loaded with more than pages and signatures. It was full of reckoning. Simone sat at the round table, leather tablet open in front of her. She looked up from her work and met my gaze with steadiness that anchored me.

“You’re right on time,” she said, voice quiet but steady.

I took a seat, hands folding around the folder. Marcus stood on the edge of the room, ...