Alice
The accounts unfroze at exactly 9:17 a.m.
No warning. No negotiation. No explanation.
Just—resolved.
I stared at the screen, coffee cooling in my hand, pulse steady in that dangerous way that meant anger had gone cold.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not yet.
I had layered it perfectly. Compliance pressure. Reputational haze. Enough institutional discomfort to stall movement without triggering alarm. Regulators didn’t reverse themselves unless someone made it easier to comply than resist.
Which meant Luca Ferraro hadn’t blocked me.
He’d bypassed me.
That realization was worse than any direct confrontation.
I set the cup down with care and opened my secure line. Three calls went unanswered. Two were rerouted. One returned a polite, rehearsed explanation that told me nothing
