A cold sweat broke across my forehead.

“Because this isn’t just historical data,” I said, my voice rising. “I still have friends on the inside who text me. Last night at two a.m., Northstar’s primary cooling unit in Sector 4 failed again. The night supervisor reset the log to hide the spike, like they always do. But Sector 4 is holding a massive shipment of pediatric antibiotics. And not just any shipment.”

I looked up. “Those meds are going to the pediatrics wing at the Joint Military Base Hospital. Children of active-duty soldiers are waiting on those vials. That truck leaves the dock at 10:15. If those vials reach those kids, they’re compromised. It’s a fatal health disaster.”

Cassandra scoffed. “This is absurd. She’s hysterical. You’re letting a disgruntled ex-employee spin a conspiracy—”

“Cassandra,” I interrupted, turning to her with a glare that could cut glass. “You didn’t schedule me at 8:45 because you were considering me for the job. You gave my work to Owen Rusk. You called me here today to bury me.”

She froze. “That is a disgusting, baseless accusation.”