Senator Quinn’s eyes narrow as she stares at me. “Then what do you want?”
“I came with proof that someone very close to you has been working against Rona this whole time.” As I say the words, I see the senator’s eyes widen.
Caroline steps forward, her wings fluttering nervously. "Senator, we don't have time for this. The media downstairs is pushing for answers, and I’ve just heard that Cassius Roarke is asking for your removal from the Digital Integrity committee."
"The media can wait," Rona interrupts firmly, surprising everyone in the room with the steel in her voice. "This is more important than damage control. If Darhg says someone on our team has been behind all that, then I need to know. So does my daughter."
Senator Quinn studies her daughter for a long moment, something shifting in her expression as Rona stands her ground in front of her mother. The temperature in the room shifts from outright hostility to wary suspicion.
“Five minutes.” Senator Quinn turns to me, her face closed off. “Not a second more.”
Five minutes is all I need. I motion for Malcolm to step into the room, and he walks in, then immediately plops down at the conference table, opening his laptop. He barely even glances at the senator, absorbed as he is with his computer screen.
"This is Malcolm Bridgeman." I gesture to the troll beside me. "He's the best cybersecurity expert in the country."
Recognition flickers across the senator's face. "Bridgeman… from Bridgeman Securities? You contracted with the Defense Department last year on the election security protocols."
“That's correct, Senator.” Malcolm straightens slightly, pulling his attention away from his screen to smile at her, pleased to be recognized. “And I can guarantee that what I found on your daughter's phone is going to interest you very much.”
"Okay, you have my attention." Senator Quinn looks from me to Malcolm. “Now speak.”
The room's atmosphere shifts again as Senator Quinn realizes I’m not bluffing. She knows who Malcolm is and she doesn’t need any more convincing of his abilities. He’s also rich enough to be quite literally above bribery, which makes his opinion pretty much above suspicion. Caroline hovers near the table, her moss-green wings twitching with nerves, but for once she remains silent.
"In plain terms," I say, meeting the senator’s gaze directly, "someone with Asterion admin access used Rona's account to publish the deepfake and then released all her private messages and photos. She didn’t cause any of this."
"Can you find out who did it?" Senator Quinn asks, her voice sharp with interest.
“Whoever did this was clever.” Malcolm leans forward in his chair, his yellow eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt. "The perpetrator knows Asterion inside and out, like they wrote the code themselves. They scrubbed their trail almost perfectly." His grin turns feral. "Almost."
The senator remains quiet, intent on listening to what Malcolm has to say.
“I tried for days to hunt them down, but in the end, their tracks were too well covered, so I knew I needed to think outside the box.” He turns back to his laptop, fingers flying over the keys. “Luckily for me, thinking outside the box is an old habit.”
“Get on with it!” I snap at Malcolm, and the troll’s grin falters a bit. I know he likes to gloat about how smart he is, but we’re on borrowed time here. “Get to the point.”
“Well, I set up a trap about twenty-four hours ago,” Malcolm says with a pout in my direction. “I uploaded a fresh selfie to Rona's Asterion account as bait. Of course, I seeded the image with a tracer.”
Malcolm’s grin comes back with a vengeance, and his gaze goes from Senator Quinn to Rona, then to me. “The moment the admin responsible opened that asset on their machine, they weremine.”
"So you have a name," Senator Quinn demands, moving closer to the table.
“Not quite.” Malcolm's fingers hover over the trackpad. "Senator, when I trigger this alarm, it will identify the device responsible. Are you prepared for what we might find?"
The question hangs heavy in the air. I watch Senator Quinn's face as the implications sink in.
"Do it," she says firmly.
Malcolm taps the trackpad once.
Immediately, the alarm shrieks through the conference room, a piercing, electronic wail that makes everyone jump. But it's not coming from Malcolm's laptop.
All eyes in the room turn to a small figure about to slip out of the room through the back door. Caroline Sparks holds her laptop to her chest like her life depends on it, her face white as asheet. Her moss-green wings flutter at her back nervously as she edges toward the door, panic written across her delicate features.
I step smoothly into her path. She’s not getting away with it. Not this time.
"Hand it over," I tell her, my voice level but implacable.
"I don't know what this is," she says, her voice pitched higher than usual. Her gaze shifts to the senator as she speaks, and she points a tiny finger at me accusingly. "This is some kind of mistake. Darhg's trying to frame me because you fired him!"
