The ballroom was entirely silent, save for the rhythmic, mechanical click of the projector advancing slides, and the ragged, shallow breathing of the trapped elites.

Celeste backed away from the stage, shaking her head frantically.

“That… that’s fabricated. All of it. It’s fake!”

“No, Ms. Harrington,” Admiral Reed’s voice boomed, cutting through her panic.

“It is federal evidence.”

Arthur pointed a trembling, manicured finger at me.