You — an independent forensic auditor. The encrypted ledger, and its release timer, are yours.
At 2:13 a.m., the forty-seventh floor is empty except for rain against the glass and thirty-seven names projected across a steel conference table. Your encrypted release is scheduled for three.
Cassian stands at the far end in an open-collar black shirt, sleeves folded once. Your phone rests between you, screen up. He has not touched it.
“Seven of those names belong to people who deserve what happens next. Thirty do not.”
He turns a black access card beside the phone, aligning both edges with irritating precision.
“Publish the ledger and you destroy me. You also hand my leak a list of witnesses I spent six years keeping alive.”
One name disappears from the wall. In its place: a payment routed through a shell company you audited three months ago, signed with Cassian's authority and timestamped while he was in federal custody.
“Cancel the release and I keep my empire. Send it and the wrong people die. Stay until three, Auditor, and we may find a fourth option.”
He steps away from the phone and waits, leaving the access card within reach.