Then, from the back of the hall, Simon Pell stood up.

“This entire session is misleading,” he announced.

The facilitator asked him to wait for the microphone. Simon ignored her.

“Our methodology has been represented by people without the expertise to interpret it. The company has received enthusiastic feedback from hundreds of participants. What you’re hearing are isolated misunderstandings presented as systemic abuse.”

Laurel stepped to the side aisle. “Mr. Pell, your stage access was suspended. You may submit a written response through the conference office.”

“I’m entitled to correct the record.”

Nora flinched at the familiar word. She looked toward Elena. For a moment the old script seemed to rise in her throat. Then she let it pass.

“You can speak when it’s your turn,” she said into the microphone. “Like everybody else.”

The audience turned toward her. Simon’s expression tightened, but he sat down. It was not a triumph of volume. It was a triumph of refusing to be hurried into the shape someone had designed for her.

CHAPTER EIGHT — THE MAN WITH THE SECOND SCREEN

During the break Elena stepped into the corridor for water. The convention hall had filled with conversations; people clustered around the speakers, some supportive, others openly skeptical. She had expected the day to feel like a verdict. Instead it felt like the first honest argument about a problem many people had preferred to reduce to a headline.

Malik found her near the refreshments table. “Something’s wrong with the vendor’s display room,” he said. “Security asked me to look at the equipment list because my badge identifies me as a consultant. I told them I couldn’t enter without permission.”

“What happened?”

“The room was supposed to be closed. Someone is still trying to run an interactive feed from a laptop on the building network.”

Elena glanced down the corridor. “Simon?”

“We don’t know. Staff are handling it.”

A young conference technician approached them, breathless. “Ms. Price? The operations director wants you to know they are investigating an unauthorized presentation setup. Please stay with your group.”

At almost the same moment Nora’s borrowed phone vibrated. She read the message and went white.

“What is it?” Elena asked.

Nora held out the screen. It was a text from an unknown number: GO TO ROOM C14 IF YOU WANT YOUR PAYMENT. COME ALONE. YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.

Imani arrived just in time to hear Elena advise Nora not to respond. Nora nodded, but her eyes filled.

“It’s the money,” she said. “I counted on it. I hate that they know it.”

“Then let’s ask the organizer to preserve the message and tell security,” Imani suggested. “You can pursue what you’re owed without following a stranger into a room.”