Caleb didn’t reach for the pen. He didn’t look at the papers. He walked to the wall where a heavy antique wooden frame hung — the Harrington family crest, a gift from his late grandfather.

Without a word, he ripped it off the wall and slammed it over his knee.

The heavy wood splintered with a violent crack. Celeste gasped and stepped back. “Have you lost your mind? That’s a priceless antique!”

“No,” Caleb said quietly, pulling the broken wood apart. “It was a vault.”

From the hollowed-out center of the frame, he drew a small, matte-black USB drive that looked like military-grade encryption hardware. He held it up in the dim light.

“You think you control the board, Mother,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But you just triggered Protocol Zero. You have seventy-two hours to enjoy your life.