CHAPTER 17: THE DOCUMENTS
The text came at nine PM on a Wednesday, three weeks after Greg had started at Waystar.
Can we talk? Somewhere private? Not the office.
My heart rate picked up. This was it.
Me: When?
Greg: Tomorrow? Lunch? I can meet you somewhere?
Me: Central Park. The bench near Bethesda Fountain. Noon.
Greg: Ok. Thanks.
I stared at the phone. Reread the messages. The nervous phrasing. The need for privacy.
Greg had found the documents.
I'd known it was coming—had positioned myself exactly for this moment. But knowing something intellectually and feeling it arrive were different things.
These documents were the bomb. The thing that would eventually bring the DOJ investigation. The leverage that could destroy careers, send people to prison, bring down the entire company.
And tomorrow, Greg would hand them to me.
Or at least tell me about them.
I needed to be careful. Very careful. Too eager and he'd get suspicious. Too dismissive and he might not trust me with the information.
I texted back: See you then.
Central Park at noon was surprisingly empty for November. Cold enough that tourists stayed away, not yet cold enough for the locals to bundle up and brave it.
I sat on the bench Greg had mentioned. Waited.
He arrived ten minutes late, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. Paranoid. Good—he should be paranoid.
"Hey," he said, sitting down. Hands shoved in his coat pockets. "Thanks for meeting me."
"No problem. What's up?"
He didn't answer right away. Looked around again. Making sure no one was close enough to overhear.
"I found something," he said finally. Quiet. Almost a whisper. "At my grandfather's. Documents. Files. About the cruises."
I kept my face neutral. Concerned but not shocked. "What kind of documents?"
"Bad stuff. Cover-ups. People getting hurt. The company knew. They..." He stopped. Swallowed hard. "They buried it. Paid people off. Destroyed evidence."
My stomach tightened. Even knowing it was coming, hearing it confirmed felt different.
"How much did you see?" I asked.
"Enough. Too much." He pulled his hands from his pockets. They were shaking slightly. "I don't know what to do. My grandfather said to destroy them. Just burn everything. But I can't—if this stuff happened, if people got hurt and the company just... what if it happens again?"
The moral crisis. Greg's inherent decency warring with family loyalty and self-preservation.
I chose my words carefully.
"If you go public with this, the company gets destroyed. You get destroyed along with it. Your grandfather. Everyone." I met his eyes. "The people who covered this up—they won't just let you expose them. They'll bury you first."
"So I should destroy them? Pretend I never saw?"
"No."
He looked at me sharply. "No?"
"Keep them. Somewhere safe. Somewhere not your apartment. Not your grandfather's place. Somewhere the company can't find them if they come looking."
"Why? If I'm not going to do anything with them—"
"Insurance," I said simply. "For you. Things can get complicated in this business. Careers end. People get blamed for things they didn't do. Having leverage—real leverage—means you have protection."
Greg processed this. I could see the wheels turning. "You want me to blackmail the company?"
"I want you to survive. There's a difference." I leaned forward slightly. "Look. I don't know what's in those documents. I don't need to know. But if they're as bad as you say, they're valuable. Not to use—just to have. As a last resort if things go sideways."
"Things like what?"
"Things you can't predict. This is the Roy family, Greg. We eat our own. Having insurance means you don't get eaten."
He stared at the fountain. Processing. Deciding.
"You really think I should keep them?" he asked finally.
"I really think you should protect yourself."
Silence. Long enough that I wondered if I'd pushed too hard.
Then: "Okay. I'll... I'll find somewhere. Keep them safe."
"Good."
"But I'm not—I'm not going to use them. Unless I have to."
"You probably won't have to. That's the point of insurance."
He nodded slowly. Still uncertain. But trusting me.
"Roman?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you helping me? Really?"
I could give him the strategic answer. The one about family loyalty and building alliances.
Instead, I told him something closer to the truth.
"Because you asked for help. Because you're trying to do the right thing in a company that doesn't reward right things. And because..." I paused. "Because someone should have your back. Might as well be me."
He smiled. Small. Genuine. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. This is just the beginning."
We bought hot dogs from a cart near the park entrance. Sat on a different bench, eating in comfortable silence.
Greg talked about his grandmother. Her health was declining. He was worried about her care, about whether he could afford to help if things got worse.
I listened. Not because it was strategic. Just because he needed someone to listen.
"She raised me," he said. "After my mom... she was always there. Always believed in me even when I was fucking everything up."
"She sounds good."
"She is." He took a bite of hot dog. "I want to make her proud. Actually accomplish something. Not just... exist."
I thought about the photo I'd seen—young Roman, terrified eyes, forced smile. The body I inhabited had no memories of genuine parental love. No grandmother who believed in him. Just Logan and his particular brand of brutal parenting.
"You will," I said. "Accomplish something."
"How do you know?"
"Because you actually give a shit. That's rarer than you think in this business."
We finished eating. Walked back toward the office together. The conversation shifted to lighter topics—Greg's terrible apartment, his worse dating life, the absurdity of corporate jargon.
Normal conversation. Two guys in their twenties, talking about life.
Except one of them was carrying documents that could bring down an empire.
And the other was a transmigrator positioning pieces for a game only he understood.
At the Waystar entrance, Greg turned to me.
"I won't tell anyone. About the documents. About this conversation."
"Good."
"And if something happens—if I need advice—"
"You know where to find me."
He nodded. Headed inside.
I stayed on the sidewalk for a moment. Watched him disappear into the building.
The documents were secured. Greg was loyal. The insurance was in place.
Now I just had to keep it safe until I needed it.
Which, knowing what was coming, would be sooner rather than later.
I headed back to my office. The weight of it settled on my shoulders. Not heavy. Just... present.
I'd just secured leverage that could destroy my family's company.
The question was: when the time came, would I use it?
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