I pull the first feed.
Madrid.
A financial crimes server—clean, quiet, buried.
Not anymore.
“They poisoned it,” I say, jaw tightening. “Injected a false transaction web.”
I expand the model. It spreads like infection.
“They’re rewriting outcomes,” I continue. “Making it look like her system flagged the wrong targets.”
Silence on the line.
“They’re not just attacking her,” Aaron says.
“They’re dismantling her credibility.”
“Exactly.”
“And if that sticks…” he trails off.
“She becomes noise,” I finish. “And everything she built dies with it.”
I switch feeds.
Porto.
Hospital.
The footage loads—grainy, rushed, too real.
“They hit someone connected to her,” I say, voice lower now. “Junior analyst. Worked with her two years ago.”
Aaron exhales, slow and dangerous.
“What happened?”
“Car crash,” I answer.
I pause.
Then: “Brake lines cut.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty.
It’s lethal.
“That’s not collateral,” Aaron says.
“No,” I agree. “That’s a message.”
Don’t help her.
Don’t believe her.
Don’t survive her.
