Page 110 of The Secretary Volume II

Of course.

I open the next.

Phase III mortality data.Not the watered-down version.The full audit.Two hundred thirty-one confirmed.Twenty-four still flagged as in progress.

No names.Just numbers.No causes.Just patterns.

I don’t need identifiers—I built the columns myself.I’m the one who translated bodies into metrics.Shifted them around like throw pillows.Renamed tabs.Hid rows like they were stains we hadn’t budgeted to clean.

And someone found them, anyway.

Someonelooked.

I stand.Find the nearest nurse.Tell her we have to go.She says that’s a bad idea, he’s not stable.

I hold out my phone to her.

Let her read it.

Let her decide if stability still matters.

Her face doesn’t change, but her spine does.

“We’ll prep transport,” she says.

Good girl.

Back in the room, he’s barely conscious.One eye bandaged.Mouth working on something slow and soft that never makes it out.

He doesn’t look like a man who runs a company.

He looks weak.Pathetic.

“We have to go,” I tell him.

He blinks once.

That’s enough.

We don’t go out the front.We’re not amateurs.

This isn’t child’s play.This is life in prison with no parole.

We have to disappear.And I’m going to make it happen.

Because, at the end of the day—and Ellis knows this better than anyone—who else is there?

64

Lena

The office doesn’t feel real.

The badge still works.The first sign no one’s onto me, yet.The scanner light flickers, hesitates, like it’s unsure whether I belong here either.

Security’s doubled.Not just the usual guys.These ones look like they were pulled from a different roster—military jawlines, hands near holsters.I keep my head down, eyes focused straight ahead.Pretend not to notice the walkie clipped to the belt of the man who watches me walk past, his gaze trailing me like he’s memorizing my every step.

When I step off the elevator, I know it immediately: this is bad.Worse than I thought.

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