The silver podium hovered beneath the high‑ceilinged conference room of Thorne Tower's trading floor, now converted into a virtual shareholders' chamber. Hundreds of investors tuned in via hologram clusters—floating faces in austere suits, their expressions expectant. At the front, a digital ticker scrolled crimson: **THRN ↓ 12.4%**. Panic rippled through the virtual audience.
Camila Zhou—pale, still convalescent, seated in a specialized wheelchair—appeared center stage as a hologram courtesy of Whitaker's secure feed. Her dark hair was pulled back, and her gaze burned with purpose.
“Good morning," she began, voice steady despite the IV line trailing from her arm. “I join you today not as a defendant in a scandal, but as one who has lived its human cost."
A murmur rippled through the ho
