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And beneath all of it?

His fingerprint.

Not just figuratively.

Literally.

Money movements.

Favor exchanges.

Contracts routed through subsidiarieshehas silent control over.

It’s elegant in its simplicity.

A trap.

Set quietly.

And then sprung when the board needed a scapegoat.

And a public crisis.

And a reminder thatcontrolisn’t a birthright.

It’s performance.

A lie dressed up in luxury suits.

I step closer.

So close I can almost taste the cold scent of his cologne through the glass — citrus and silk and something that once smelled likementor.

“Tell me,” I say again. “Why would you engineer this — to frameme?”

He doesn’t blink.

Not truly.

Not for an instant.

His smile stays — smooth, refined, too perfect.

“It’s not aboutyou,Grau,” he says. “It’s about stability. The board needs reassurance. They need a focal point. A threat. We can’t have a Reaper wandering through sensitive research — not with unverified loyalties.”

Translation:

We can’t have someone loyal to her, not us.

Something inside me snaps.

Not like breaking.

Like steel bending under pressure.

I inhale.

Feeling every cool molecule of air tugging at my lungs.