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Kazima, I'm a Grit, Isn't It?
Kazima punched in 2248 and groaned as the door swung open. Nathaniel's laptop was gone, but if his office at Grit had been anything to go by, he preferred to work in analog. She flipped through a pile of documents that were all stamped with header banners reading confidential, not for public release. The top folder was lettered hastily as insurance policy. It wasn't exactly a lie; it was nothing but grit research. Kazima tucked her phone away and reassembled the insurance policy as quickly as she could. Then started for the front entrance.