“You’re going to stand down,” I continue, voice low, steady, final. “You’re going to leave. And you’re going to pretend this conversation never happened.”
The man looks at me like I’m beneath him.
Like I don’t understand the scale of what I’m standing in.
“You don’t have the authority.”
“No,” I agree.
I take one step closer.
“That’s not what I have.”
A beat.
“I have leverage.”
I don’t look at Ronan.
I don’t need to.
He’s already moving.
A single key—
And the room changes.
Every screen.
Every feed.
Every projection.
Not threat models.
Not simulations.
Truth.
Money trails.
Shell foundations.
Shadow budgets braided through humanitarian fronts.
Influence pipelines that touch governments, courts, crisis response agencies—
everything.
The Oversight group.
Exposed.
Not as theory.
As fact.
The man’s composure cracks.
