The newsroom was a battleground of shadows and fear. Security officers were now visible in the lobby, blocking the elevators and main exits. Richard, Nora’s editor, paced nervously. The threat of company liquidation hung heavy in the air.
“This is not a regular warrant,” Richard argued into his phone, his voice strained. “But if they tie it up in court, we could lose everything before we even publish a word.”
He looked at Nora, then at me, his indecision palpable. “Legal vetting could take days. Days we don’t have.”
I knew he was right. Marcus didn’t need to win a legal battle, he just needed to stall. He knew the truth would sink him, but he also knew how slow the gears of justice could turn.
“We don’t go through the newspaper’s server,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “We bypass it.”
Nora looked at me, a question in her eyes.
“Your mobile hotspot,” I explained, pulling out my own dead phone. “It’s slow, but it’s direct. We upload it to the regulators.”
I grabbed Nora’s laptop, my fingers flying across the keys. The newspaper’s internal server was compromised, but the open internet was not. I searched rapidly, finding the compliance portals. Lloyd’s of London, Kestrel’s primary international underwriter. The United States Coast Guard Marine Safety Office, their regulatory body. These were the true arbiters of Kestrel’s fate, not some local night magistrate coerced by Marcus.
The screen glowed, the network connection establishing, slow but sure. An electronic trap, sprung not by Marcus, but by us.
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