Chapter 3

The next morning, Liam walked into the office with a grim sense of purpose. He hadn't slept. Instead, he' d spent the night running the models again and again, and each time they came back with the same terrifying conclusion. The avalanche wasn't a possibility; it was a certainty. The window for evacuation was closing fast.

He went straight to his boss's office. "Mr. Davis, did you see my email? We need to issue a formal warning for Crestwood immediately."

Mr. Davis, a man who valued procedure over instinct, looked up from his computer with an annoyed expression. "I saw it, Liam. And frankly, I'm concerned."

"Concerned? Sir, the town needs to be evacuated. We're talking about a potential category five event."

"I'm concerned about you," Mr. Davis said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "I received a rather distressed call this morning. From your girlfriend, Chloe."

Liam's blood ran cold. "What did she say?"

"She said you've been under a lot of stress. That you're not sleeping. That you're having... paranoid delusions about her hometown. She told me you two broke up over it last night and she' s worried you' re manufacturing a crisis to try and control her."

Liam stared at him, speechless. She had actually done it. She had preemptively poisoned the well, painting him as unstable to discredit his professional judgment. It was exactly the kind of manipulative, self-serving move the pop-up had warned him about.

"Sir, that is a personal matter, and she is twisting the facts to suit her own narrative," Liam said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "My analysis is based on data, not emotion. The data is unequivocal. You can see it for yourself."

Mr. Davis sighed, shaking his head. "Liam, your data is an outlier. None of the other models are showing a threat of this magnitude. Corporate policy requires consensus before we issue a red-level alert. It could cause a panic, hurt the town's tourism. It's ski season, for God's sake."

"Consensus will be a body count!" Liam shot back, his voice rising. "Are we supposed to wait until we have a pile of dead tourists to confirm my model is right? This is what we do here! We warn people!"

"What you are doing is causing a scene," Mr. Davis said, his tone turning hard. "Chloe mentioned you threatened her. That you were trying to keep her from her family. This report of yours feels more like a personal vendetta than a professional assessment. I'm putting you on administrative leave, effective immediately. Go home, Liam. Cool off. We'll handle the Crestwood situation with a standard winter weather advisory."

"Leave? You're putting me on leave?" Liam was stunned. "You're choosing to believe my ex-girlfriend's manipulative lies over hard data?"

"I'm choosing to maintain protocol and protect this center from a potentially embarrassing and costly mistake," Mr. Davis said coldly, turning back to his screen. "Security will escort you out. Hand over your ID badge."

The words hit Liam like a physical blow. Fired. He was being fired for doing his job, for trying to save lives. He felt a surge of white-hot fury, followed by a chilling sense of despair. He was completely alone in this. No one would believe him.

Two security guards appeared at the office door. Liam looked from their stony faces to Mr. Davis's dismissive back. There was no point in arguing. He was powerless here.

He unclipped his ID badge and placed it on the desk. "When that avalanche hits Crestwood," he said, his voice low and steady, "and people ask why we didn't warn them, I want you to remember this conversation, Mr. Davis. I want you to remember that you had the data, and you did nothing."

Mr. Davis didn't even look up.

As the guards walked him out of the building he had dedicated his life to, Liam felt a strange sense of liberation mixed with his anger. They had taken his job, but they couldn't take his knowledge.

He got into his car and pulled out his phone. The clock was ticking. Official channels had failed. If he was going to save anyone, he would have to do it himself. He looked up the number for the Crestwood town hall and started driving. It was a three-hour trip, but he would make it. He had to.