Ava feels like she’s going to be sick.
“He lied,” she whispers. “He sat in his office and looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t authorize that demo. That someone used his shells, his routes, his name. He said he was framed.”
Cass’s gaze flicks to Ava’s face, then back to the screen.
“Maybe he was,” she says. “Maybe he wasn’t. We can’t know yet.”
Ava laughs, short and bitter.
“Looks pretty f*****g clear to me,” she says. “His name. His cert. His shell. The people under my father’s roof died so he could collect a fee.”
Cass closes her eyes briefly.
“Or,” she says, opening them again, “some very talented asshole with a grudge forged the cleanest lie I’ve ever seen.”
Ava bristles.
“You just said—”
“I said the metadata looks right,” Cass cuts in. “I didn’t say it’s *origin‑true.*
