“What if it wasn’t from the outside? What if it was someone here? Someone who had access to her computer?”

Ruskin blinked. “I . . . I don’t see how that could be accomplished.”

Sandra frowned. “Are you just pretending to be dumb?”

He did a silent harrumph. “Excuse me?”

“All these media types here today. What if it was one of them? How long would someone need to be at her computer to get or steal or download this protocol shit? Like with one of those sticks? Plug it in, download everything really fast. How long would that take?”

“Not long,” Ruskin said. “But I didn’t see anyone sneaking around back in there who shouldn’t have been.”

“What happened when she got sick?”

Ruskin blinked again. “What?”

“She blamed the coffee. She got sick. She ran to the bathroom. Was that after she’d started up her computer, entered the password for the day?”

“It . . . it might have been.”

Sandra thought about that. “Someone could have done it then. If they’d put something in the coffee.”

Ruskin nodded slowly. “I suppose it’s . . . remotely possible.”

“So that’s how it could have happened. Who would have wanted to do it?”

“It’s a long list,” Ruskin said. “Lisa Carver didn’t make a lot of friends on her way up.”

“Who would you put at the top of it?”

“Brandon Kyle,” Ruskin said. “Gandalf’s CEO. But all the major car companies are developing autonomous vehicles. Any one of them would benefit from Arrival’s collapse.”

“Maybe he was here,” Sandra said.

“Kyle? He wouldn’t be caught dead here.”

“If not him, maybe someone working for him.”

Ruskin gave that some thought. “I . . . I suppose that could be possible.”

Sandra was busy trying to remember something. “I wish I had my damned phone. I could call up the invitation list. You gave me a list of media you wanted to be here. So I got in touch with all of them, and asked them to let me know who they’d be sending today.”

Ruskin nodded impatiently. “So?”

“I had a request from someone. Someone who wasn’t on your list.”

Ruskin sighed. “Not a surprise. There’s always a few like that, who want to be included.”

“But it was just one. I’m trying to think of his name . . . Stapleton. Something Stapleton. Benjamin, I think. Said he was with . . . shit, who was it?”

“I don’t see where this is getting us,” Ruskin said.

“Just shut up for a minute,” she said, raising a silencing finger in the air. “I’m trying to remember who he was with.” A pause, then, “Wheel Base. Two words. Wheel Base Trends or Wheel Base dot com. A website.”

She opened up the browser on Lisa Carver’s phone and typed out the company name.