Chapter 4

The briefing began, and it was a farce. Chief Williams, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to provoke a direct confrontation, tried to steer the conversation toward official business. But Alex kept interjecting, offering his opinions with an air of unassailable authority. He used industry jargon the agents weren't familiar with, making them feel out of their depth. He would turn to Sarah for confirmation, and she would nod eagerly, reinforcing his status as the smartest man in the room.

It was a carefully orchestrated performance designed to establish their dominance. My team grew quieter and more resentful with each passing minute.

After about twenty minutes of this, Williams put up a slide detailing the security protocols for the conference venue, a shared government and private-sector facility in San Diego.

"As you all know, the west wing of the convention center is a designated SCIF for the duration of this event," Williams said. "No unauthorized electronics. All personal devices must be surrendered at the security checkpoint. No exceptions."

I saw my opening. I stopped doodling and looked up, my expression neutral.

"Chief," I said, my voice calm and even. "That would include Mr. Thorne. As a civilian, he won' t have the clearance to enter the SCIF, and his presence at this briefing is already a violation of directive 7.3.4 regarding classified pre-operational meetings."

The room fell silent. I hadn' t raised my voice. I had simply stated a fact, citing the regulation by number. It was a direct, professional challenge, impossible to dismiss as jealousy.

Sarah' s face hardened. A flush of angry red crept up her neck. She turned to me, her eyes flashing with fury.

"Are you questioning my professional judgment, Agent Miller?"

She used my formal title. It was a deliberate act of separation, a public declaration that we were no longer a unit. In her mind, we were now adversaries.

"I' m stating FBI protocol, Sarah," I replied, my tone unwavering. "It' s your responsibility as a consultant to uphold it, not ignore it for your guests."

Alex Thorne, for the first time, looked slightly unnerved. He had expected me to be emotional, to be angry. He hadn' t expected this cold, procedural response. He quickly recovered, putting on a mask of wounded dignity.

"If my presence is a problem, I can certainly leave," he said softly, directing his words to Sarah. "I would hate to be the cause of any... friction."

It was a masterful piece of manipulation. He was painting me as the aggressor, the source of the "friction," while positioning himself as the reasonable party.

Sarah fell for it completely. Her anger at me intensified.

"No, you will not leave," she snapped, before turning her glare on the rest of the team, specifically the two junior agents who were trying to merge with the wallpaper.

"Let me make something clear to everyone," she said, her voice low and menacing. "Mr. Thorne' s presence on this trip is non-negotiable. He is a critical asset. Anyone who has a problem with that can file a formal report with the main office. I will personally review that report and ensure it is given the... 'special attention' it deserves. Do I make myself clear?"

The threat was unmistakable. A complaint from a junior agent against a high-level consultant like her, backed by a billionaire, would be a career-ending move. The two young agents paled, nodding quickly.

"Yes, ma' am," one of them mumbled.

Dave shifted in his seat, his jaw tight with frustration. He looked at me, an unspoken question in his eyes: Are you going to let her do this?

I met his gaze and gave a barely perceptible shake of my head. Let it go.

The team fell into a tense, resentful silence. They were good agents, loyal to the Bureau and to the rules. Sarah had just forced them to choose between their principles and their careers. By openly abusing her power, she had lost their respect completely. She was isolating herself, and she was too arrogant to even notice.

I picked up my pen again.

"Understood," I said quietly, and went back to my notepad.

I didn't need to fight her. She was doing my work for me. Every word she spoke, every threat she made, was another shovel of dirt on the grave she was digging for herself. I could feel the victory, cold and certain, settling in my chest. All I had to do was wait and watch her bury herself in it.