Chapter 3

I looked at Vivienne's face, cold as an operating table, and suddenly I laughed.

"Try it, then."

I turned and walked out.

Stepping through the hotel doors, the desert's dry wind slammed into my throat. I doubled over, coughing hard.

I fished my medication out of my pocket and swallowed it dry. Opened my phone. A few emails sat quietly in my inbox.

The respiratory specialists I'd contacted earlier—all authorities in their fields—had sent their regrets almost simultaneously. Different wording. Same message.

Current appointment schedules are full. Unable to accept new patients at this time.

Vivienne moved faster than I'd expected.

Forty years in the medical field. A web of connections spanning every major institution. Shutting down my access to care wasn't hard for her.

But I wasn't without leverage either.

I dialed the lab's internal line and pulled up the classified personnel priority channel in the federal employee health system.

The Morrows still thought I was that researcher they could push around.

They didn't know.

From the day I entered the federal classified project, my health records fell under the direct jurisdiction of the Federal Employee Health System.

I scanned the directory. Crossed off the names Vivienne had gotten to. Then I routed my health file directly through the internal line to the security officer in charge of federal employee medical coordination.

Less than two hours. The lab's security department processed everything.

The Morrow family's blockade, against federal resources, was thinner than paper.

But the Morrows weren't done.

An anonymous complaint landed on the director's desk. Accusing me of stealing chip technology for private deals.

Whispers started spreading through the lab.

I was in the conference room with the director, going over response strategies, when the door slammed open.

Baker strode in first, face dark with fury. Vivienne followed, expressionless. Ella, eyes red, was supporting Harrison Morrow.

All four of them. My entire family. Had just barged into a federal research building.

Harrison led the charge, fixing the front-desk security guard with the kind of glare that dared anyone to stop him, muttering something about an urgent family matter—rich people always knew how to turn arrogance into a free pass.

"Sadie Morrow, you've got some nerve!"

Harrison slammed his hand on the table, face flushed crimson.

"To get back at your family for cutting funding, you'd sell out a federal project?"

"How could you do something like this!"

Beside him, Ella was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Sadie, I don't care how much you hate me—you can't commit a crime over this."

"Just hand over the files. Turn yourself in. Baker will get you the best lawyers."

Baker looked down at me the way you'd look at an equation you were confident you'd solve eventually.

"Sadie. Come back with us now and do the match. The Morrow Group will make this go away."

"Otherwise, you spend the rest of your life in federal prison."

Watching them, so sure they could crush me, I felt nothing but exhaustion.

"Are you done?"

I stood up. Pulled the conference room display over and plugged in a flash drive.

The screen lit up.

Three-hundred-sixty-degree surveillance footage of my office. No blind spots.

On the screen, the person sneaking into my office and copying files was none other than the temporary administrative assistant Baker had paid off a few days ago.

Two more screenshots followed.

The assistant's bank records.

Yesterday afternoon. A subsidiary of the Morrow Group had wired him fifty thousand dollars.

"This the evidence you've been waiting for?"

I looked at Baker. His face had gone pale.

The conference room went silent. You could hear the hum of the air conditioning vent.

Every colleague and supervisor who'd followed the Morrows into the room had their expressions shift in real time.

The director's fist hit the table. He punched the internal line.

"Security. Contact the FBI immediately. Detain that administrative staff member who stole the files. Full cooperation with the investigation into the Morrow Group!"

"Morrow Group? What are you talking about—"

Harrison's roar cut off mid-sentence.

The door opened.

My assistant walked in, followed by two men in crisp suits—IRS Criminal Investigation badges clipped to their belts.

"Mr. Morrow. The IRS has been conducting a criminal investigation into your group for three months now."

"Dr. Sadie Morrow's encrypted chip triggered the Federal Marshals' emergency response—and tipped us off at the same time. Today is the takedown."

My assistant's voice wasn't shaking anymore. It was steady in a way it had never been before.

Baker froze.

"Sadie—you—"

Vivienne's hand trembled as she pointed at me.

I looked at her coldly.

"Ms. Vivienne. I told you."

"Don't test my limits with your corporate tactics. Every single thing you've done—I will settle every last one."