The digital clock on the microwave blinked 12:59 PM. One minute until David released the data. One minute until Kovács's deadline expired. One minute until the foundation's reputation was either salvaged or incinerated. I stood in the kitchen of the safe house, staring at the red numbers. They changed to 1:00 PM. Then 1:01 PM.
My phone buzzed on the counter. It was David. "It's live," he said. His voice sounded strained, like he was shouting over noise. "The servers are taking a hit. Traffic is spiking. The Guardian is picking it up. The BBC is calling."
"Let them call," I said. My voice sounded hollow. I hadn't spoken in twenty minutes. "Don't answer anything. Just let the data stand."
"Bella, the numbers... the offshore accounts linked to your mother. They're huge. People are talking
