Three days after the funeral, Yuko went back to work.
She didn't want to. Every corridor reminded her of her father—the loading dock where he'd wave to her on his way out, the cafeteria where they'd sometimes grab lunch together. But staying home meant sitting with her grief, and grief didn't answer questions.
S-Corp headquarters was buzzing when she arrived. Security everywhere. Black SUVs in the executive lot. A stage being assembled in the main atrium.
"What's going on?" she asked a passing engineer.
"President's here. Golden himself." The engineer grinned like a kid at Christmas. "Leno's been planning this for months. Big speech, photo ops, the whole thing."
Of course. Cole Golden, the 74th President of Atlantis. The man who'd promised to "put humans back to work" while quietly building an empire of automated war machines. She'd voted against him. Most engineers had.
Leno had backed him from the start. Fundraisers, endorsements, prime-time appearances where he praised Golden's "vision for Atlantean innovation." Now Golden was here to return the favor.
Yuko headed for her lab, hoping to avoid the circus. She made it halfway.
"Yuko."
The voice stopped her cold.
Leno Kums stood in the corridor, flanked by two assistants. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her car. His smile was warm, practiced—the same smile he'd used at the gala six months ago.
"I heard about your father," he said, stepping closer. "Tragic. Truly tragic."
She said nothing.
"I wanted to express my condolences personally." He tilted his head, studying her. "It must be difficult. Knowing he was out there, alone, when it happened."
Something in his tone made her stomach turn.
"The company is handling everything," she managed. "Thank you for your concern."
"Of course." Leno's smile didn't waver. "But I keep thinking—if someone had been paying closer attention, maybe things would have turned out differently. If someone had made different choices."
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell his cologne—expensive, suffocating.
One of his assistants went very still. Eyes flicking to the ceiling—to the small dome of a security camera—then back to her tablet. She knew what was coming. Had heard it before.
"You could have saved him, Yuko."
The floor seemed to list beneath her feet.
"What did you say?"
"I'm just saying—family is important. We should hold them close while we can." His smile held, but the eyes never warmed; they assessed and filed. "You never know when they might be... taken from you."
One of his assistants coughed. "Sir, the President is waiting."
"Of course." Leno straightened his tie. "Take care of yourself, Yuko. And do think about what I said."
He walked away, assistants trailing behind like shadows.
Yuko stood frozen. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Every instinct screamed to go after him—grab his arm, demand an explanation, make him say it again where someone could hear.
She clocked the dome cam above the exit. The Secret Service agent by the stairwell, one hand near his earpiece. The executive assistant hurrying past with a tablet, eyes carefully averted.
Not here. Bank it. Move.
She forced her hands to unclench. Filed his words away like evidence—because that's what they were.
Six months ago, she'd rejected him. Said no to dinner. Said no again when he pushed. And a week later, her access was revoked.
Now her father was dead. Killed on a route that wasn't supposed to be his. A route someone had changed at the last minute.
You could have saved him.
The taunt wasn't subtle. It was a confession dressed as condolences.
If Leno had picked Joel's route because she'd told him no, then this wasn't negligence. It was punishment. He'd chosen her father specifically because his daughter had wounded his pride.
The atrium was packed by the time she arrived. Engineers, executives, PR people—everyone crammed together to watch the President of Atlantis shake hands with their CEO. The stage was draped in flags. Camera crews lined the perimeter. Secret Service agents stood at every exit, eyes scanning the crowd. Magnetometers at every entrance. Temp badges for anyone above the third floor. No personal devices in the secured zone—she'd had to check her phone at the door.
Voss stood by the west stairwell, expression unreadable, eyes on her badge. S-Corp's head of security. She'd seen him in meetings but never spoken to him. Something about the way he watched the crowd suggested he wasn't just here for the President.
An intern was trying to squeeze past her toward the front, hands shaking, clearly terrified of missing something important. Yuko stepped aside and let her through. The girl flashed a grateful look and disappeared into the crowd.
Yuko found a spot near the back, half-hidden behind a pillar. She didn't want to be here. But she needed to see them together—Leno and Golden. Needed to understand what she was up against.
Cole Golden looked exactly like his campaign posters. Silver hair, strong jaw, blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Sixty-two years old but moving like a man half his age.
As he crossed backstage, he paused to greet a janitor by name—asked about his grandson, clasped his shoulder, moved on. Cameras angled to capture the common touch. Too perfect. Too rehearsed. She filed it away.
Cole stood next to Leno like they were old friends—which, according to her research, they were. Golf buddies. Fundraiser partners. Two billionaires playing at power.
"Thank you all for being here today," Golden said, his voice carrying through the speakers. "S-Corp represents the best of what Atlantis can achieve. Innovation. Excellence. A commitment to building the future."
Applause. Yuko didn't clap.
"In these challenging times, with unemployment at historic levels, it's companies like this one that give us hope. Your work—your dedication—is what will put Atlantis back on top."
More applause. Leno beamed.
"I'm proud to call Leno Kums a friend and a patriot. His support during my campaign meant more than I can say. And today, I'm here to say thank you—not just to Leno, but to every single one of you who makes S-Corp the greatest technology company in the world."
The crowd cheered. Golden raised a hand, humble and gracious.
Then his eyes swept the room—the practiced scan of a politician counting faces.
And stopped.
On her.
Yuko felt it before she understood it—that prickling sensation of being seen. Not glanced at. Seen. Golden was looking directly at her, his expression shifting into something she couldn't read.
He smiled.
Not the campaign smile. Not the presidential smile. Something else. Something private, almost... familiar. He paused as if comparing a photograph to the original. His gaze lingered—on her jawline, her hair—like he'd seen those features before.
Like he knew her.
Something cold slid down her spine. She stepped back, half-hiding behind the pillar. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Why is he looking at me?
She was nobody. A senior engineer in a company of thousands. There was no reason for the President of Atlantis to notice her, let alone smile at her like—
Like what?
When she looked again, Golden had moved on. Shaking hands with executives. Posing for photos. The moment had passed.
Maybe she'd imagined it. Maybe grief was making her paranoid.
But she hadn't imagined Leno's words.
You could have saved him.
The ceremony ended. People dispersed. Yuko found a quiet corner and pulled out her phone, opening her encrypted notes.
She added a new line:
- Leno said "you could have saved him." Not condolences. A taunt. He knows what happened. He made it happen.
- Why? If he chose the route because I said no—revenge. He killed my father to punish me.
- President Golden was here. Reward for campaign support. They're connected—Leno and Golden. How deep does this go?
- TODO: Correlate Frank's route/timestamp to the 8:31 MINERVA window. See if the override test matches Dad's location.
She stared at the screen.
Her father hadn't been a random victim. He'd been chosen. Selected. Murdered because his daughter said no to the wrong man.
This wasn't a cover-up she'd stumbled into. This was personal. Leno had made it personal.
And the President of Atlantis had just smiled at her like he was keeping a secret.
She thought about the telemetry logs. MINERVA_THROUGHPUT: OVERRIDE TEST. She thought about the wound on the back of her father's head. She thought about Frank's words at the funeral: Nobody gets dropped in same-day.
Leno had the motive. Leno had the access. And now Leno had all but confessed.
But proving it—that was something else.
She needed evidence. She needed access to files she didn't have clearance for. She needed someone on the inside who could open doors.
Her phone buzzed. A calendar notification: TEAM SYNC - 2PM - LAB 7.
Time to go back to work. Time to pretend everything was normal.
Yuko pocketed her phone and walked toward the elevator.
The hunt had begun.