Chapter 14 - The Backup Nobody Could EraseLuis Ortega agreed to meet Nathan in a church parking lot outside Cleveland.
He refused to come to Brightwater.
He refused to speak by telephone.
And he insisted that Nathan arrive alone.
Nathan parked beneath a maple tree at ten in the morning.
Luis was waiting beside a silver pickup truck.
He looked nervous.
"You came," Nathan said.
"I almost didn't."
Luis glanced toward the street.
"Somebody knows I've been talking about the old security system."
Nathan frowned.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Luis described the black car outside his apartment and the photograph of his family.
Nathan felt his stomach tighten.
"Have you reported it?"
"Yes. The police took a statement."
"Good."
Luis looked at him.
"You don't understand. These people aren't playing games."
Nathan swallowed.
"I'm starting to."
Luis opened his truck and removed a folder.
"When Samuel installed the digital security system, he wanted redundant storage."
Nathan nodded.
"Walter told me."
"The main recordings were stored locally. A second system copied certain camera feeds and system logs to an outside archival provider."
"Does it still work?"
"Yes, unless somebody changed the contract."
"Can we get the June thirteenth footage?"
Luis hesitated.
"Possibly. The provider's default retention is thirty days for ordinary footage. Longer for flagged incidents."
Nathan checked the date.
July 10.
Twenty-seven days since Grace's ride.
Three days remained before the ordinary retention period might expire.
"Who can request preservation?"
"Authorized company representatives, the insurer, investigators, or attorneys using appropriate legal process."
"I'm the CEO."
Luis looked troubled.
"Are you still authorized to direct the security vendor?"
"Yes."
"Then contact them today. Put the preservation request in writing."
Nathan immediately called the park's outside counsel and asked that the archival provider preserve every recording and system log relating to Little Comets on June 13.
He also notified Carla Benton and Leah Shaw that another source of electronic footage might exist.
The urgency was real.
So were the procedural limits.
Nathan could not simply demand that a third-party company hand over confidential recordings without appropriate authority.
But he could help ensure the files were not automatically destroyed.
Luis watched him finish the calls.
"There's something else."
He opened the folder.
Inside was a printed system diagram.
The camera overlooking the Little Comets loading platform was labeled C-14.
A second camera, C-15, covered the operator console from a different angle.
Nathan stared at it.
"Why didn't Owen show me camera fifteen?"
Luis's expression darkened.
"Because camera fifteen would show the emergency stop."
"Could it show the latch?"
"Maybe part of the platform. Depends where people were standing."
Nathan looked down at the diagram.
The missing eleven seconds from C-14 suddenly seemed even more suspicious.
Luis continued.
"Somebody disconnected the local backup connection after the incident. But the remote archive might already have received the relevant data."
"Who disconnected it?"
"I don't know. The system logs should identify the account used, if they're intact."
Nathan stared at him.
"Why are you helping me?"
Luis looked toward the church doors.
"Your father gave me my first job when nobody would hire me. I was twenty, and I'd made some stupid mistakes."
"What kind?"
"Nothing I want repeated in a newspaper."
Nathan almost smiled.
Luis continued.
"Samuel told me a man should be judged by whether he corrects his mistakes, not by whether he's never made one."
Nathan lowered his eyes.
"He said things like that."
"He meant them."
Luis looked at him.
"Do you?"
Nathan had no immediate answer.
That afternoon, the archival provider confirmed receipt of the preservation request.
Its compliance team would secure the identified recordings and review the parties' authority to obtain copies.
Nathan forwarded the confirmation to Leah.
She responded:
Good. Don't access or alter anything yourself. Let the provider preserve the originals and provide them through the investigation.
For the first time, Nathan felt the investigation might move beyond competing accusations.
But the victory lasted less than an hour.
At 3:40 p.m., Owen entered Nathan's office.
"Your mother wants an emergency board meeting."
Nathan looked up.
"About what?"
"Corporate leadership."
Nathan leaned back.
"You mean me."
Owen said nothing.
Nathan studied him.
"You've been hiding financial information."
Owen's face paled.
"Nathan—"
"North Quay. Grace's trust. The old scholarship fund. The restraint modification."
Owen looked toward the hallway.
"Keep your voice down."
"Why?"
"Because you don't understand how many people could get hurt."
Nathan stood.
"A six-year-old already got hurt."
Owen's mouth tightened.
"You think everything is simple because you weren't the one keeping the lights on."
Nathan stepped closer.
"Then explain it."
For one desperate second, Owen seemed ready.
He opened his mouth.
Then his phone rang.
Evelyn.
Owen looked at the screen.
And whatever courage he had gathered vanished.
"I can't," he whispered.
He left without another word.
That evening, Nathan received a formal notice.
A board meeting had been scheduled for July 20.
The stated purpose was to consider Nathan's removal as chief executive.
At the bottom of the notice were two signatures.
Evelyn Ward.
Paul Sutter, the board's third director.
Nathan stared at them.
May you like
He had spent years believing the park belonged to him because it carried his father's name.
Now he was discovering that belonging and controlling were not the same thing.
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