Nixon’s POV
"If your team misses a single text on those ten devices, I will replace all of you by sunrise," I said.
My voice cut right through the steady drone of the computer cooling fans. The technical basement smelled of hot metal, plastic insulation, and old coffee. Blue light from the wall monitors washed over three technicians. Their fingers hit plastic keys in a flat, rapid rhythm. On the long table between us lay ten mobile phones in thick evidence bags. Each bag had a white strip of tape with a name written in thick black ink. Ten of my trusted inner circles. One of them had helped clear the path to put my mother in a medical bed.
Blair, the head of the department, did not look up. He used his middle finger to shove his sliding glasses back up the oily bridge of his nose. "The
