The Power Pivot

The service corridor smelled of industrial floor wax and stale coffee. When the first reporter burst through the heavy steel door, he didn't look for an invitation; he looked for a headline. His phone was already raised, the camera lens a glass eye tracking Elena’s every move.

Elena didn't retreat. She stood by the mahogany table, the thumb drive resting on the wood like a live grenade. She didn't look at the reporter; she looked at the reflection of the room in the polished surface of the table.

“Mrs. Vance?” the reporter panted, his gaze darting to the door. “Is this a play for the Thorne trust? Are you using the ledger to force a settlement?”

Behind him, a

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