Chương 82: Interlude | Case File C73A, F13, D204, G45

CASE FILE C73A: Bumblebee News Clipping Bumblebee Inquirer – Senior Spotlight of the Week By: Marcy Ellison, Staff Writer Bright Futures: Tessa Burton, Senior Point Hope High School's graduating class of 2024 is full of remarkable students, but few shine quite like Tessa Burton—Bumblebee's volleyball queen, bookworm, artist, dancer, survivor, and, to many in town, a symbol of resilience. With a 3.

80 GPA, an overflowing portfolio of paintings and sketches, and a gentle soul that we here at the Inquirer can't deny draws people toward her, Tessa has long been a beloved presence in our mighty Bumblebee halls of PHHS and to the rest of Point Hope community. This year, though, her journey to graduation has been anything but typical. Tessa, one of the survivors of the Green Hill & North Cedar Lake Massacre, spent her final semester completing her classes through home study.

Despite her absence from campus, students still cast their votes for her as our 2024 Prom Queen, an overwhelming show of support that left her both touched and humbled.

"I didn't really expect that," she said during our interview, her smile shy but sincere.

"I haven't been at school much this year due to the recovery and the… well, you know what I mean. I thought people would've moved on and forgotten about me since I haven't been at school most of the year. But going to the dance and hearing my name, well, it meant more than I can say. I thank my friends and family for their continued support."

Tessa has always been known for her love of dance, volleyball, and art, but last March marked her return to painting, a return that surprised even her since she hasn't drawn or painted anything after that fateful night in North Cedar Lake. After her and her family moved to a different neighborhood in Point Hope, She posted one of her new works, a swirling surrealist tableau to her Instagram and TikTok followers. The post exploded online within hours, gaining hundreds of thousands of likes and shares.

Soon, national art pages began reposting it, calling it "haunting," "a visionary gut-punch," and "a raw expression of trauma." But for Tessa, she readily admits that the nationwide reaction of her post has been complicated, even for her parents and to those who are close to her. After posting that painting, she has gained four hundred thousand followers on Instagram alone in the span of three months, even garnering likes and follows from famous celebrities like Selena Gomez, Ariana Grande, and Serena Williams.

"I know people meant well," she explained, "but that painting was something deeply personal. I made it because I didn't know how else to say what I felt. When everyone focused on the 'mystery' or the 'shock value' because of my past, it hurt a little. It wasn't meant to be a spectacle. It was just me. I didn't want to be known as The Final Girl of Point Hope forever. I wanted to be known as Tessa Burton."

Ever since what her fans are now calling The Painting of Hell Rock, she has posted several of her work on the platform, each earning hundreds of thousands of engagements and reactions from famous artists and celebrities. Art, for Tessa, has always been a secret language, her way of processing the world, whether that means the rhythm of a swing or modern dance routine or the quiet hours spent sketching in her backyard. As she graduates this upcoming June, she's ready to embrace that part of herself fully.

Several colleges and universities have already publicly extended their interest after reviewing her portfolio, but Tessa has chosen to attend New York University for their competitive and prestigious Tisch School of the Arts, planning to double-major in Dance and Art. The choice, she laughs, was rooted in her childhood.

"When I was little, I watched the movie Enchanted with Amy Adams and Patrick Dempsey," she said.

"I remember thinking New York City was the most magical place on earth. I always told myself, 'One day, I'm going to live there.' And now I get to. It doesn't help that I grew up watching Friends and Gossip Girl. And NYU also has a Women's volleyball team that I can try out to since my mom has been pushing me to workout more." Her acceptance to NYU feels like the beginning of a new chapter, one she's eager to step into, even if she carries a past that she'll never fully leave behind.

"I'm very thankful for the people who has supported me in the past few months. It wasn't very easy, even for me. I also want to dedicate many of my art to Cody Riddell. Wherever he was, he will always live on in my mind and through my work." As our interview came to a close, Tessa makes a final statement about her bright future.

"I'm hopeful, I really am. I know I can't erase what happened, even though I still can't remember most of it, but I'm serious when I say I want to live a life that's bigger than it. I want to see the world, make art, meet new people… just be myself again." And Point Hope is cheering her on. From all of us at the Bumblebee Inquirer and the rest of the student body: Congratulations, Tessa Burton! May your next chapter be as bold and beautiful as the art you create.

CASE FILE F13: Excerpt from the Private Journal of Tessa Burton (Recovered Pages – May 29, 2024) I don't know why I'm writing this down. I've tried so hard these past few months to put all of that stuff behind me and just be content at telling my therapist everything. Mostly everything. Maybe if I put my words into writing, it'll make the dreams feel less real. Maybe I can finally sleep in peace. I've never told my therapist that I've been having these nightmares.

Twice a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, but always the same places: the Selene Mountain, North Cedar Lake, and the Cabin. That damn Cabin. I can see it before I even fall asleep. I don't know why I'm so afraid at telling Dr. Taylor these dreams, and how they feel so real I can practically smell the pines and the lake, but maybe so that she won't think that I'm crashing out or just 'processing my grief.' She says that a lot and it's getting annoying. I just want to be normal.

But In my dreams, I'm never sure if I'm awake or asleep when I first notice it. I'm getting better at telling them apart though. It feels like remembering something I was never meant to remember. Sometimes I'm alone when I find myself standing at the tree line, looking into the dark woods. Sometimes I'm in front of the cabin. Sometimes there are others with me—some faces I know, some I don't recognize, silhouettes that feel like my classmates, people I know in town, campers, or hikers or… someone else.

They're always eager to go inside, as if the place is calling to them just as it did with me. Every time I'm in this dream, I try to warn them. I tell them not to go in, that something evil lives under the earth, something old, and ancient, and hungry. It's always hungry. But they never listen. They laugh at me, called me crazy. They cross the threshold, and one by one, they disappear into the air, and I'll never see them again. Deep in my gut, I know these strangers are dead.

There are worst dreams; the ones where I don't just know they died, but I actually see it. It looks and feels so real. I see their bodies breaking in ways no human body should break, or I hear them scream from somewhere in these labyrinthine tunnels beneath the cabin itself, fading like their voices are being pulled farther and farther away until there's nothing left but my own voice shouting after them. There's this one guy in my dream who got squished into a bloody pulp by a freaking wall.

I always wake up sweating, shaking, my heart banging against my ribs. I've taken all prescribed medications I can without killing myself, but none of it is making these dreams go away. But last night's dream was different. I didn't warn anyone this time. There weren't any strangers. It was just me, and the cabin, and this strange, sinking calm that washed over me. Like I'd finally accepted something I've been pushing away for months. In the dream, I told myself it was time. That I needed to go back.

I needed to find the others. I packed a small bag with rations, wore a heavier jacket, brought hunting knife, and put on my old hiking boots. I grabbed Dad's rifle from the safe. I remember checking the bullets in there. Then I stepped outside and walked down our street toward the highway, heading for the mountains. No hesitation. No fear. Just… a comforting pull. Like there was a string in my chest and the other end was tied to that cabin. I've never felt so sure and motivated even in real life!

The others were waiting for me up there, ready like I am. And then I woke up. My window was open. The night air was chilly because it rained yesterday. My feet were caked in dried mud up to my ankles. I don't even remember getting out of bed. I told myself I must've just sleepwalked into the backyard, but I didn't go any farther. I shoved my sheets and blankets into the laundry and took a shower before Mom and Dad could see them. I haven't told them anything about my dreams either.

They'll freak out and I'm done with them fussing about me like I don't know how to breathe. My friends will be worse. They already treat me like I'm still at the hospital, broken. And then today I got my acceptance letter from NYU. I almost cried when I read it. Not the happy kind of crying, though maybe there was some of that. Mostly it felt like finally seeing a road leading away from all of this. Away from the lake. Away from the Cabin. Away from the dreams.

I calculated on Google Maps that New York is three thousand miles away from Point Hope. It is as far from North Cedar Lake as I can possibly get without leaving the country. Mom scheduled a campus tour for me and Dad in a few weeks. They're excited but I'm excited for a different reason. I keep thinking that maybe once I'm there doing the campus tours, the distance will weaken whatever hold this place has on me. Maybe the nightmares will fade if I put enough miles between me and that forest.

If this doesn't work, studying internationally might be another good option, but I just can't wait to get out of here. I hope it's enough. (Recovered pages - June 27 th, 2024) Mom was right. (There, I said it.) She told me I'd end up enjoying this trip if I stopped treating it like some big, looming "decision" and let it be what it really is: a mini-vacation. And somewhere between the cab ride from LaGuardia and getting to the hotel room, I finally did. Dad and I toured NYU yesterday.

I swear the campus feels like it's alive in that way only a city like New York can do, you know? There were students from all over everywhere, all of them seemingly knew exactly where they're going and what they're doing with their lives. I want to be one of them. I could be one of them. We did the tourist thing, too. Saw Hadestown (which was unreal) and Wicked (which made Dad tear up, though he'll never admit it).

I can't stop singing the songs in the hotel, and I think our neighbors next door are starting to get annoyed. We also went to see the Statue of Liberty and took a ferry ride. It's way smaller in person than in the movies like some dumb director blew up the real one in post-production. Still really cool, just… cute, I guess? I don't think Lady Liberty has ever been described as cute, but here I am writing it down. The weirdest, best part of all this is that I've actually been sleeping. Like really sleeping.

The first night here, I had one bad dream about the mountain and the cabin. Just one, like my brain needed to get it out of its system. And then the last three nights? Nothing. I couldn't even remember what I dreamt at all. Just completely blank! Do you know how nice that was? When I woke up this morning, it felt like the first real rest I've had in months. I didn't know how good it could feel to not dream. And now that I know what it felt like? I want more of it. More dreamless sleep. More city exploring.

More nights where I'm not afraid to close my eyes. I think I really do want to go to NYU. Live here. Start over here. New York feels like a place where the mountain can't find me at all. It's gonna make Mom and Dad sad though. Come Thanksgiving or Christmas, they'll want me to come back home with the rest of the fam. Maybe I can persuade them to move back to Portland and live near Aunt Carol and my cousins.

I can even tell Mom that she'll be two hours further away from Grandma since they live in Boise if she moves to Portland. That'll make her laugh. Heck, that might just convince her. It's not a bad idea. Portland is also awesome and Dad travels to work there once a week. But what should I say to make that idea stick? I don't want to go back to Point Hope. Ever. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. No, this is future Tessa problem.

For the last two days of my time here in NYC, I'll enjoy it. I wish I could stay here a little longer. CASE FILE D204: Freak Snow Storm 4 Dead, 1 Survivor in Deadly Selene Mountain Avalanche: Sol-Atlas Heir Expected to Recover by Johnny McMann, KGWA Staff Thurs, February 29 th, 2024, 3: 00 PM POINT HOPE, OR (KGWA): A tragic avalanche on Selene Mountain has left four snowboarders dead and one survivor hospitalized after a sudden, violent collapse of snow and ice swept through the upper ridge late Monday afternoon.

The five snowboarders, a group of experienced winter sports enthusiasts, were last seen on February 24, just hours before a freak snowstorm struck the region. The severe weather triggered an avalanche that buried a large section of the mountain's south trail, trapping the group beneath hazardous terrain and delaying rescue operations for nearly 48 hours. Rescue teams from the Point Hope Search & Rescue Division, assisted by state emergency crews, located the group early Wednesday morning.

Only one member, 24-year-old Kieran Peneva, was found alive. Peneva suffered minor injuries consistent with hypothermia and mild fractures but was conscious when recovered. He was airlifted to St. Mary's Medical Center in Portland, where he is currently listed in stable condition. Peneva is known publicly as the son of billionaire media magnate Matthew Whittaker, owner and CEO of the international news and technology conglomerate, Sol-Atlas Corporation.

The circumstances of Peneva's parentage gained national attention in the Summer of 2010 when Whittaker finally publicly acknowledged a then-rumored affair for several years with the family's Bulgarian housekeeper, Aleksandra Peneva, who sued him for financial damages and wrongful termination, but later died in an unrelated traffic accident. Following her death, Whittaker legally adopted Kieran, bringing him into the Whittaker clan.

A spokesperson for Sol-Atlas released a brief statement this morning, saying, "We are profoundly grateful that Kieran was found alive and is expected to make a full recovery. Our hearts go out to the families of the young lives lost in this terrible tragedy." Authorities have not yet released the names of the four deceased snowboarders, pending notification of their families. Selene Mountain, a popular site for skiing and backcountry snowboarding, has seen an uptick in dangerous weather anomalies this winter.

Experts warn that shifting atmospheric patterns may increase avalanche risks throughout the season. Local officials are urging residents and visitors to monitor safety advisories and avoid unmonitored terrain on the website. Despite the devastation, rescue teams expressed relief that at least one life was saved.

"Given the conditions, it's remarkable he survived at all," said Search Captain Mark Ellery.

"Mr. Peneva is extraordinarily lucky that we found him in time." Further updates will be provided as the investigation continues.

CASE FILE D204: Whittaker Tragedy Whittaker Family Tragedy: Sol-Atlas Empire Shaken After Fatal Yacht Explosion in Nassau By Maria Kessler, New York Times Fri, April 19 th, 2024, 11: 00 AM A devastating yacht explosion off the coast of Nassau, The Bahamas, earlier this week has claimed the lives of Matthew Whittaker, the powerful media magnate behind Sol-Atlas Corporation, and five members of his family, sending shockwaves throughout the financial markets and igniting an inheritance battle that may shape the future of one of the world's most influential media conglomerates.

Whittaker, 62, was aboard his private yacht, the Evangeline, when it collided at high speed with an unidentified vessel on the late afternoon of April 15, according to Bahamian authorities. The collision triggered a rapid and catastrophic fuel explosion that engulfed much of the yacht before it sank.

Fourteen people from the Evangeline were killed, including Whittaker, his second wife, Sofia, 35, a former Victoria's Secret model; his eldest son, Abel, 30; rising pop star and Abel's girlfriend, Alanna Rhodes, 22; and Matthew Whittaker's twin sons with Sofia, Forrest and Ellington, 13. Eight crew members, including the vessel's captain, Jann Kowalska, also died in the fire.

Authorities have also confirmed that there were six survivors from the incident: Whittaker's daughters, Violet, 28, and Rosie, 21; Violet's husband and Apple Exec, Shaun Parry, 33; Abel's young daughter, Isabella, 3; stewardess, Madison Porter, 26; and deckhand Travis Murphy, 28. Officials have since identified the other vessel involved in the collision as a privately rented speedboat carrying six students from the University of Miami.

According to witness statements and preliminary toxicology reports, the students appeared to have been intoxicated and were believed to be attempting to recreate a social-media "speedboat challenge," which involves participants dangling off the rails of a craft traveling at high speed. The students—whose names have not yet been released publicly—were all killed in the collision, bringing the death toll of the accident to 20.

Bahamian authorities said the force of the impact suggests the speedboat was traveling well above regulated limits. The Bahamian Ministry of Energy and Transport said it is continuing to investigate the cause of the collision, and officials have not ruled out criminal negligence.

Update (May 30 th, 2024): A Sudden, Contested Succession Since Whittaker's death, attention has shifted sharply to the future of Sol-Atlas, a sprawling media, entertainment and technology entity with holdings in over 40 countries, and reported a total of $103 billion dollars of revenue last year. That future became more complicated when it was revealed that Whittaker's final will named his 24-year-old adopted son, Kieran Whittaker (born Kieran Peneva), as the primary heir and designated successor to the company.

Mr. Whittaker, who survived a widely reported avalanche on Oregon's Selene Mountain in February, assumed the title of CEO earlier this month. The appointment instantly made him the second richest man in the world under 40, with an estimated personal net worth of $19. 8 billion dollars, just under Mark Zuckerberg. This also places the young CEO as #49 in Forbes 400 richest people in the world of 2024.

The decision stunned many within the Whittaker circle, including the family of Matthew's first wife, Rebecca Templeton, a long-serving member of the Sol-Atlas board, and Whittaker's and Templeton's eldest daughter, Violet. Ms. Templeton and Violet Whittaker has filed a lawsuit challenging the validity of the will, alleging fraudulent inheritance acquisition, undue influence over a vulnerable adult, and interference in the expected corporate line of succession.

Their suit claims that a revised version of Whittaker's will was executed "under irregular circumstances" shortly before his trip to the Bahamas. They also claimed that Matthew Whittaker has been suffering from a recent diagnosis of a highly aggressive form of prostate cancer. Lawyers for Mr. Whittaker have called the allegations "baseless" and "an attempt to destabilize the company during a moment of mourning." They have also denied the claims that Matthew Whittaker had cancer.

The aftermath of the Nassau accident sent Sol-Atlas stock into a brief slide, reflecting investor anxiety about the leadership transition. But the downturn leveled off after several weeks, and by late May, the company's market performance had largely returned to its pre-crisis baseline. Analysts say Mr. Kieran Whittaker's early weeks have been defined by caution, deference to veteran executives, and limited public appearances.

"He's been careful not to make abrupt changes," said Miriam Hall, a media-industry analyst at Deloitte US.

"The stability of the stock suggests the market is willing to wait and see. Still, the combination of Whittaker's youth, his sudden rise in influence, unproven track record with the family business, and the legal challenges from within the family has left many to question about how he will lead the company long-term." The full circumstances surrounding the crash remain under investigation.

Authorities are working to determine why the students' vessel was operating at such high speed and whether additional criminal charges will be brought posthumously for reckless endangerment or violations of Bahamian maritime law. Sol-Atlas released a brief statement saying the company "mourns the lives lost" and remains "committed to preserving Matthew Whittaker's legacy and maintaining stability during this difficult time."

Agent Notes (Handler Wyoming): (Handwritten on attached page and filed internally following NYT article excerpt) Something happened on that mountain when Kieran Whittaker went up there with his friends and he is the only one who came down alive. The official reports say "minor injuries," but we've all seen this pattern before. His case fits too neatly with the others. I've already made notable files for suspected survivors of the anomaly.

I am waiting for the Council to finish their review before official recruitment into the Institute. Based on our preliminary observations, the Selene Mountain incident marks the tenth known case group in which a surviving subject emerges from an anomalous zone exhibiting unusual abilities, altered behavioral patterns, or extreme changes in personal circumstance within weeks of the event, usually after high fatalities. Whittaker didn't just survive.

He ascended to the helm of one of the most powerful media companies on the planet. These kinds of meteoric rises are rarely coincidences. Not after exposure to a suspected anomaly like North Cedar Lake. How does this anomaly operate? What does it take from them, and what does it give in return? I've forwarded the Kieran Whittaker's file to The Council for closer inspection. We need to keep a close watch on the new Sol-Atlas CEO. He might be trouble.

But if we can bring him to our side, he might be our greatest asset yet.

CASE FILE G45: The Unknown Caller SECURITY FEED LOG: DECEMBER 31st, 2024 Location: Whittaker Residence, Midtown Manhattan Penthouse Camera Feeds: CAM 04 (Main Hall), CAM 06 (Terrace), CAM 12 (Private Office) The camera feeds cycle in a slow, mechanical rhythm from side to side with wide-angle shots of glittering city lights reflected off high-rise windows; guests in sequined dresses and tailored suits drifting like constellations through the penthouse; champagne flutes catching the gold of chandeliers.

Snow clings to the terrace railings outside, where heat lamps glow amber against the winter dark. Laughter filters faintly from the main hall, though the audio is muted. CAM 04 — MAIN HALL: Kieran Whittaker, impeccably dressed, is circulating among his invited guests. He appears relaxed, performing the polished charisma expected of a tech and media magnate hosting a private New Year's Eve celebration.

An assistant approaches him—female, early 20s, hair tied in a neat bun—and hands him a phone with both hands, whispering something close to his ear. Kieran's smile falters and looks annoyed. He excuses himself from a conversation with a pair of venture capitalists, nods once to the assistant, and strides toward the hallway with his two bodyguards. CAM 10 — HALLWAY: Kieran walks briskly, glancing at the phone screen twice. His jaw tightens. Party noise fades behind him as he turns into his private office.

He tells his two bodyguards to wait outside. CAM 12 — PRIVATE OFFICE: Kieran closes the door, mutes the room behind him. He lifts the phone to his ear. On the other line is an unknown caller with a distorted male voice. Unfortunately, the Institute cannot clean the audio for forensic voice comparison and biometrics. For the remainder of the recording, the camera holds a fixed overhead angle. Kieran stands beside his desk, city lights throwing long silhouettes across the room.

Below is the AUDIO TRANSCRIPT captured from CAM 12 and from Whittaker's phone: Kieran: Hello? Unknown Caller: Hello, Mr. Whittaker. Happy New Year. Enjoying the party? Kieran: (a beat) Um, hello? Who is this? Unknown Caller: You know who I am, Kieran. Kieran: No, I don't. And this is a secure line and it is being recorded. Whoever you are, cut that voice modulator shit. Unknown Caller: That doesn't matter to me. Kieran: (irritated) Look, you clearly know who I am, but I have no time for prank calls.

I'm hanging up— Unknown Caller: Selene Mountain. Kieran stops cold, shoulders locking. His throat bobs as he swallows. Kieran: What did you say? Unknown Caller: You heard me. The mountain remembers you. I remember you. I'm calling in to settle our arrangement. Kieran: (voice thin) No. No, that—that wasn't… that wasn't real. Unknown Caller: (chuckles) Is that what your therapist tells you? Kieran: (continues) — I was delirious. Hypoxic. I imagined that Yeti— Unknown Caller: You did not imagine me.

Kieran: (a long pause) What do you want? Unknown Caller: What we discussed. Do you remember our little talk in the ice? In the chill? Right after your friends stopped screaming? Kieran's breath stutters. He grips the desk to steady himself. Kieran: I didn't agree to anything. Unknown Caller: Your heartbeat did. Your fear did. And fear is a binding language, Mr. Whittaker. Kieran: (whispers) Jesus… Look—look, whoever this is, what you're asking for? It can't be done. It's impossible.

Unknown Caller: With your father's resources? With Sol-Atlas at your fingertips? You can do more than "done." You can make things happen. Like me. Kieran: No. No, you're talking about the Havashar Society. Do you know what they did to my company when I tried to cut ties with their little club? Thank fuck I salvaged most of it. I can't get involved again. They're already watching every move I make because I refused to join a seat at their table. Unknown Caller: That is exactly why I chose you, Mr. Whittaker.

Inheriting a legacy leaves an open door, and you were born holding the key. Or adopted to holding it. Same difference. Kieran: I said I'm out. Unknown Caller: You survived something not many can. You owe us. Kieran: (shaking) I owe you nothing. Whatever happened up there—whatever hallucination I was under—I'm done. I'm not entertaining this. Unknown Caller: Yet you wake up every morning feeling it, don't you? In your lungs. In your bones. Like the cold still hasn't left you. You feel it in your dreams.

I can claw my way to you when I want to, where I want to, how I want to. Remember that. Deep down in that brain of yours, you know I will reel you back in just as easily as twisting a knife into your gut. Kieran visibly trembles. He parts the curtains and looks out the window. Kieran: I want you to stop calling me. Unknown Caller: Not until you give me what I want. Kieran: I said no! Unknown Caller: Kieran… there are ways to bring the mountain to you, you know. Kieran: (hushed) Is that a threat?

Unknown Caller: Threatening you would be an act of mercy. What I have in mind is so much worse. Kieran: If you come near me, or my family, I swear I'll— Unknown Caller: You already made your promise. On the mountain. Freezing. Begging. Do you want me to repeat to you what you wished that night? We both know the dead can still talk even from beyond the grave. Kieran's jaw clenches. He stops breathing for a moment. Kieran: Don't. Don't you dare. You don't understand.

Unknown Caller: You were angry because of your mother's death. I understand enough. You've seen the truth… you've pulled back the curtain and taken a peek… Kieran: Stop. Please. Unknown Caller: Then uphold our deal. Kieran: I don't know if I can. Unknown Caller: You can't or you won't? Kieran: (pleading) Please. Unknown Caller: It's just a building in the middle of Manhattan. All I need from you is to prepare it for me under one unimportant, uninteresting name. It's simple. Kieran: You're coming here, aren't you?

To finish the job? Finish me off? Unknown Caller: Don't flatter yourself. I have my own reasons. Kieran: Then why? Tell me. A faint, unnatural distortion creeps through the line, like wind rushing through a hollow space. Unknown Caller: I'll be in touch, Mr. Whittaker. Get it done. The line goes dead. CAM 12 — PRIVATE OFFICE: Footage shows Kieran lowering the phone with a trembling hand, and staring at the floor for a long, unmoving twenty-nine seconds.

Guests continue celebrating in the background—oblivious, joyous—while inside the office, the New Year arrives for Kieran Whittaker in total, suffocating silence. He walks over to his desk, sits down, and pulls a drawer open behind the desk. He picks up a revolver, cocks it, and places the barrel of the gun inside his mouth. Kieran cries. A long minute of the barrel of the gun still inside his mouth. He pulls it off and slides it away from him across the desk. Kieran: (whispers softly) God-fucking-damn it. Mr.

Whittaker slumps his head on the desk and sobs.