He grabs his jacket and heads out, leaving Nolan with the screens and the hum of machines.
Nolan taps his earpiece and connects back to Damian’s office.
“Update,” he says as soon as the line picks up. “We’ve got the freelancer tagged and his phone cloned. Site’s cleared the queue and is playing nice. Adrian’s going to sit on Havers personally for a bit.”
“Anyone else touched the files?” Damian asks.
“Not yet,” Nolan says. “And we’re making sure ‘yet’ never arrives. From a public‑risk standpoint, we’re at… eighty percent contained.”
“Not good enough,” Damian says.
“We’ll get to ninety‑nine,” Nolan says. “There’s always the one percent for a bartender who saw too much or a street‑cam archive we can’t wipe without tripping three federal alarms. That’s the game you chose to play.”
“It’s
