Two days after the threatening note arrived, the atmosphere inside the O’Connell estate had shifted from celebration to control. The energy that once buzzed with post-launch excitement had grown still, watchful. Hallways once filled with warm greetings and movement were now lined with security sweeps and silent glances.
Lena sat at the head of the long conference table in the west wing—formerly a gallery, now a private operations room. The digital screen behind her projected glowing maps of the Foundation’s project networks. She wasn’t admiring them.
She was looking for cracks.
Every connection now looked like a possible breach. Every new face in the Foundation, a potential saboteur.
Behind her, Ruth entered the room, her expression unreadable, laptop tucked under her arm.
“We found it,” she said flatly.
Lena turned. “Found what?”
Ruth set the laptop down, tapped a few keys, and rotated the screen toward her.
“The leak. Someone inside the Foundation’s media division has been forwardin
