I watch the exchange closely, the dynamic between them sharper now that we’re all in the same room.
“Go ahead,” I say, my voice calm as I glance at Dadams. “Tell him.”
Dadams swallows, his throat working as he looks between us.
“The reports,” he says finally. “They’re compromised.”
Driscoll’s expression doesn’t change.
“In what way?” he asks.
Dadams hesitates.
I step closer.
“Say it,” I murmur.
He exhales.
“They’re fabricated,” he says. “The breach patterns, the incursions—they’re being controlled.”
The room feels tighter.
The air sharper.
Driscoll studies him for a second, then looks back at me.
“You’ve been busy,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “And we’re not done yet.”
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the recording device, activating it with a quick flick of my thumb.
“This is being documented,” I say, holding it up just enough for him to see. “Everything you say from here on out goes on record.”
His gaze drops to the device, then lifts back to my face.
“You think that protects you?” he asks.
“I think it exposes you,” I counter.
He exhales slowly, something almost like amusement flickering across his expression.
“You’ve misunderstood your position,” he says.
“Have I?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies. “You’re not in control here.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Then prove me wrong,” I say. “Explain the breach patterns. Explain Tury.”
His gaze sharpens.
“That situation was handled,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “That’s the problem.”
