Chapter Fifty-Five
The next morning, Nivida’s conference room was stripped of its usual corporate polish. Heavy curtains muted the sunlight, and the long glass table was cleared except for a single laptop—an old, offline model Christopher had secured from storage.
The USB drive sat at its center like a predator disguised as prey.
Briella’s arms were folded tightly, her body language sharp and defensive. Marcellus stood at her side, his hand steady against the table edge, but his gaze kept flickering toward her—watchful, protective. Clara lingered near the door, her eyes never leaving the small, plastic device.
Christopher broke the silence. “No internet, no connection. The machine’s clean. If there’s malware, it’ll die in here. If there’s data, we’ll see it.”
Marcellus gave a single n
