The villa's communication suite buzzed with static and encrypted pings. Viola Kane hunched over the console, heart hammering as she monitored outgoing data packets. Outside, snow drifts swirled against reinforced windows; inside, destiny teetered on the cusp of a twenty-four–hour countdown.
Marlowe's voice crackled through Lester's earpiece: “All secure. Federal lane open. No intercept detected." He paused. “You ready, Doctor?"
Viola glanced at the large digital clock on the wall—5:12 PM. Exactly thirty-five hours until Gabriel Locke's deadline. She inhaled deeply and keyed the final approval code. “Transmitting now."
On screen, folders labeled “Locke Financials," “Project Phoenix," “BoardMinutes," and “CrashForensics" streamed across Hayden BioTech's secure uplink to federal servers. E
