"What? Dude, no. That's insane."
"Not his computer. His phone. Five minutes access while he's distracted."
"Korgan, I could lose my job."
"Trinity could lose her business."
Marcus wavers. I can see the internal struggle, loyalty versus self-preservation. Finally: "This is a terrible idea."
"Most good ideas start that way."
"I'm not helping you commit crimes."
"Just create a distraction. Thirty seconds. That's all I need."
"And if he catches you?"
"He won't."
Marcus closes his eyes, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."
"Agreed."
He disappears. I count to sixty, then enter the green room like I own it. Derek Lingard looks up, irritation flashing across his face.
"This room's private."
"Looking for the bathroom. Apologies."
"Down the hall, second left."
I nod, make as if to leave, then pause. "You work for Vanessa, right? The influencer."
His expression shifts slightly. Professional mask sliding into place. "I represent Miss Vanessa Martinez, yes."
"Must be difficult. Managing someone in an uncontrolled environment like this."
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Korgan. The orc bachelor."
Recognition now, mixed with calculation. "Ah. You're the one dating the baker."
"Something like that."
"She's quite charming. Very... wholesome." The word carries weight, like he's describing a flaw. "I'm sure the audiences eat it up."
Before I speak, there's a crash from the hallway. Shouting. Marcus's voice: "I'm so sorry! The coffee cart just—everywhere!"
Derek Lingard swears, moving toward the door. "Incompetent—excuse me."
He rushes out, leaving his phone on the table. Face-up. Unlocked.
I move fast. Grab the phone, navigate to his messages. Scroll back through hours of conversations, looking for anything related to Trinity, to sabotage, to coordinated attacks.
There. A thread with someone labeledDigital Cleanup:
Phase two complete. Bot deployment successful. Bakery reviews tanking as planned.
