Owen didn’t argue. He didn’t defend his data.

He dropped his phone like it had burned him, grabbed the landline, and punched in a number with shaking fingers.

“This is Rusk,” he choked out, tears spilling over his lashes. “Halt Truck 42 at Northstar. Do not let it leave the bay. Quarantine the entire Sector 4 load. Manually temp-check the vials. Now — do it now!”

He slammed the receiver down and buried his face in his hands. A ragged sob tore out of him.

Grayson didn’t offer comfort. He turned to the Head of Compliance. “Lock down the Northstar server. I want an independent audit team on site within the hour. Freeze all management credentials.”

“Done,” she said, fingers flying.