"Vance is the cage," I said. "But Hendrick Warson is the one convincing the bird it’s safer inside."
The silence in the room was heavy.
"Warson is a kingmaker," Stephen said softly. "He has dinner with the Prime Minister. If Vance is a shark, Warson is the ocean. He provides the environment."
"So we poison the water," I said.
I tapped the screen.
"We don't go after the money. We go after the legitimacy. We prove that Warson isn't just reporting on the industry; he’s invested in it. If we can link Warson’s private equity fund toAegis Collective Solutions..."
"Then every article he’s ever printed about 'Wellness' becomes a conflict of interest," Stephen finished. "It becomes market manipulation."
"It becomes a conspiracy," I said.
Stephen pushed his glasses up his nose. "If we target Warson, we aren't just fighting a record label, Rowan. We are fighting the ink."
"We'll be creating enemies who buy ink by the barrel," Juno added, his amber eyes narrowing. "They will stop writing about your incompetence and start writing about your mental health. They will dig up your ex-boyfriends. They will find that parking ticket you didn't pay in 2012."
"I don't have parking tickets," I said absently, pulling up the shareholder registry for Warson Global Media. "I take public transport."
"The point stands," Juno said. "You go public with this, and the scrutiny shifts from 'scandal' to 'dissection.' We’ve kept you in the shadows, Rowan. We extracted you. If you dismantle Warson, you have to stand in the light."
"Physical security becomes a nightmare," Mateo added. He moved to the table, placing his heavy hands on the wood, looking down at the map I was building. "Warson has private security that makes Vance’s scouts look like mall cops. If we poke this bear, the threat level goes from 'harassment' to 'elimination.'"
"Can you hold the perimeter?" I asked Mateo, not looking away from the data.
"I can hold a perimeter against God himself if the check clears," Mateo rumbled. "But I can't stop a sniper if you insist on standing on a podium."
"I'm not standing on a podium," I muttered, cross-referencing a shell company address. "I'm standing on a data set."
I reached for a stack of printed documents Stephen had left on the corner of the table. I spread them out, ignoring the coffee stains. I grabbed a red marker.
I began to draw.
It was a physical map of the corruption. I circledAegis. I drew a line toVance Global. I drew a dotted line toWarson Global Media.
Then I paused.
There was a gap. A missing link between the money and the press.
I stared at the paper. My mind worked the way it always did, stripping away the noise, looking for the quiet administrative error that unraveled everything.
Consulting fees.
I drew a circle in the empty space.
The Aurelius Foundation.
"It's a charity," I whispered. "Vance donates to Warson’s charity. Warson’s charity pays 'consulting fees' back to Vance’s shell company. It’s a tax-free loop."
I drew the final line. The circle closed. It was a perfect, self-sustaining engine of exploitation.
I felt a gaze on me. Heavy. Intelligent.
I looked up.
Stephen was watching me. He was leaning forward in his chair, his chin resting on his hand, ignoring his own laptop entirely. He was watching the red marker in my hand like it was a conductor's baton. There was a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with the settling of lawsuits.
