I reached inside and retrieved a sleek, ultra-thin black USB drive, holding it up by a silver lanyard so it caught the overhead light.

“Before you ask your men to lay a finger on me, Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice echoing off the paneled walls, “you should probably be aware that exactly sixty seconds ago, every single guest currently standing in your grand ballroom received a highly encrypted, scheduled email from my server.”

Daniel lunged at me like a cornered animal, his hands outstretched.

I simply took a graceful half-step backward.

His hands froze in mid-air, a mere three inches from my throat.

I pointed upward.

The security camera above us was still tracking our movements, its red light pulsing rhythmically.

“Still rolling, Daniel,” I sing-songed softly.