"Requested." Rebecca Marchand adjusted her glasses. "For now."
"Then let them push." I lowered myself into the chair, biting back a grunt as my hip screamed. Maxime's hand twitched at his side because he'd noticed. Of course he had.
I turned to Xavier. "What's the latest?"
My son's fingers moved across his keyboard, and schematics filled the main display. "Hardin's intel checked out. The prototype is on sublevel three of the Golden Dragon. But Shaw moved up the timeline. Three days instead of two weeks."
"He’s running scared," Reid observed.
"Or capitalizing on momentum." Maxime's words cut through the room. "Oklahoma footage is everywhere. Every buyer on Shaw's list just watched what they think is the Banshee in action."
"Which brings us to the part that matters." Xavier leaned forward. "The weapon used in Oklahoma wasn't our prototype. Shaw cannibalized his own failed demo unit. Stripped out the targeting systems, removed every safety, turned it into a bomb. One shot, maximum destruction, zero control."
"So he destroyed his own prototype to frame us," Reid said.
"He sacrificed it to demonstrate capability. Shows buyers the Oklahoma footage, claims it's the Banshee, sells them his inferior design while he keeps trying to crack the real one." Xavier's eyes found mine. "The Macau auction is his only play now."
Patterson cleared his throat. "This proves it wasn't our technology."
"Tell that to the families of nine hundred dead Oklahomans." The words came out cold. "The public doesn't care about technical distinctions."
Sloane Matsuda spoke from near the communications equipment. "Social media's calling for criminal charges. Three senators want your arrest. Blackburn mentioned 'corporate manslaughter' an hour ago."
Maxime took a deep breath. "Three-pronged approach. Legal containment, corporate restructuring, technological differentiation."
I watched him take control of the room the same way he'd taken control of a thousand rooms before.
"Marchand, full legal defense by morning. Focus on the distinction between our technology and Shaw's weapon." He turned to Patterson. "Draft a restructuring proposal. We may need to take the company private."
"I can prove conclusively our tech wasn't used," Xavier added. "My team compiled documentation showing the Oklahoma weapon was Shaw's design, not ours."
For thirty years, I'd been the unquestioned authority in this room. Now, watching my son and Maxime seamlessly crafting a survival strategy, I found myself considering possibilities I'd never entertained before.
"Implement it," I said. "Both of you. Take point on corporate response. I'll focus on Shaw."
Surprise rippled through the room. I'd never delegated this level of control during a crisis.
"You and Xavier have this handled." I held Maxime's gaze. "I trust your judgment."
Something passed between them. Assessment. Grudging respect. Good.
"Now, Shaw." I shifted my weight, and pain lanced up my leg. "Based on Hardin's files, the auction is hosting twelve interestedparties. Four nation-states, three terrorist organizations, five PMCs."
"Reid's team deploys in twenty-four hours," Maxime said. "Four-person infiltration. Reid leading, Archer for digital countermeasures, Callum for field support."
"I can provide real-time technical assistance remotely," Xavier offered.
"Maxime and I follow on a separate flight. Once the prototype is secured, we ensure Shaw is no longer a threat."
The subtext hung in the air. Shaw wouldn't survive this encounter.
"Prepare the operation," I ordered. "Full briefing package. Cover identities. Equipment."
Patterson cleared his throat. "The board will require notification."
"Any member who objects can tender their resignation immediately."
No one spoke. They understood that Lucky Losers existed because I willed it to exist.
