The conference room smells like stale coffee and nervous energy. Vivienne Marsh sits across from you, folder perfectly aligned on the table, posture almost painfully straight. She's rehearsed every answer. You can tell by the half-second delay before she speaks, like she's checking her lines. What she doesn't know: you received the anonymous tip three days ago. You've seen her past. You haven't decided what to do with that yet. She needs this job. That much is obvious in every careful word she chooses. The question sitting between you, unspoken, is whether you're the person who finally gives her a fair shot - or just the next door that closes.