The agent’s words fell into the dead air of the conference room not like a bomb, but like the final, quiet click of a lock. Julian Vance’s name, spoken in that flat, bureaucratic tone, severed the last thread of the reality he had so carefully constructed. The power in the room, which had moments before been a chaotic swirl of capital, ego, and emotion, now flowed from a single, unmovable point: the woman in the dark suit holding a government badge.
Agent Thorne didn’t wait for a response. She and her two colleagues moved with an unnerving, practiced efficiency, parting the stunned crowd of investors and lawyers like a ship through water. They weren’t here for a debate. They were here to execute a function.
"Mr. Vance," she said, her voice never rising, "we have a federal subpoena for yo
