Chapter 30
Daisy
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the Georgetown University campus and the sleek glass entrance of the Rafik B.
Hariri Building. My fingers unconsciously twist the silver rings on my right hand — a nervous habit I’ll probably never shake, especially when I’m walking into the digital equivalent of a lion’s den.
Students rush past with backpacks slung over their shoulders; their chatter about midterms and weekend plans is a stark contrast to the weight pressing against my chest.
I smooth my shirt and adjust my earbuds.
The familiar weight of my vintage Metallica tee beneath the stiff blazer offers minimal comfort.
The lobby buzzes with activity — tech executives in drab suits mingle with academics in rumpled blazers and cardigans, all clutching conference lanyards and coffee cups.
My phone buzzes.
Quinn
Remember, you’re just another attendee. Act normal.
Act normal. Right. Because nothing about this is remotely normal.
The registration table stretches along the far wall, staffed by enthusiastic grad students who probably have no clue they’re volunteering at what could become the biggest tech scandal of the year.
I grab my lanyard — Daisy Jonas, Chief Technology Officer, Sterling Financial — and sweep the crowd for familiar faces.
There, near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the quad, is Phillip Sterling himself.
His silver hair is perfectly styled, his charcoal suit likely cost more than many people’s monthly rent, and that practiced smile is fixed like a creepy mask.
Surrounded by admirers, he bobs along to whatever praise he’s receiving.
My stomach clenches. This man destroyed lives — retirees who trusted him with their life savings. And if I’m right about the murders…
I force myself to look away before my stare becomes obvious and instead focus on the digital displays advertising the symposium: “The Future of Cryptocurrency: Innovation and Ethics in Digital Finance.” Oh, the irony.
“Ms. Jonas?”
A young woman with a clipboard and an eager smile is at my side. “I’m Sarah, one of the event coordinators. Mr. Sterling requested to meet with you before his presentation. Would you mind following me?”
My heart rate spikes, but I keep my face neutral. “Of course.”
This isn’t part of the plan. Quinn’s voice echoes in my head: Sterling won’t know who altered his presentation.
As Sarah leads me through the crowd toward Sterling’s inner circle, I spot a familiar figure near the auditorium entrance.
Jake stands with perfect military posture, scanning the room.
When our eyes meet for a split second, he gives the subtlest wink — so quick I might have imagined it, but no.
He’s got my back. And that wink reminds me: I’m his girl.
That tiny gesture steadies me more than any pep talk could. Jake is here. The team is in position. I can do this.
All I have to do is act normal. Or, well, like a suit.
The crowd parts as we approach Sterling, and I find myself face-to-face with the man whose world is about to implode. He won’t suspect me. Surely he won’t. He gave me a twelve-million-dollar salary.
“Ah, Ms. Jonas,” Sterling says, extending a manicured hand. “Having a good morning?”
Before I can answer, he adds, “Nervous?”
“Why would I be?” I smile, and hope it covers the tremor in my voice. “I’m not presenting. You’re going to do a great job.”
His smile widens into something that makes my skin crawl.
A man I don’t know — carrying an audio pack — leans in and guides Sterling up onto the stage. There’s a podium, a potted fern, and four chairs to the side. Behind the open curtains hangs a white screen for the presentation.
“Come on. We’ll wait in the back,” Sarah says. She leads me through a side door and pulls me behind the stage into a narrow area protected by the long velvet curtain. We’re looking straight onto the stage.
“We’re running behind. He needs to get started,” she says.
My stomach knots.
The announcer begins asking everyone to take their seats. Sterling stands near the stage, smiling, hands at his sides—a man who believes he’s on top of the world.
“It’s my great pleasure to introduce our keynote speaker, Phillip Sterling,” the announcer says.
I spin to find a seat in the audience, but Sarah grips my arm. “You need to stay here.”
I start to protest, but she cuts me off. “He wants to introduce you.”
She looks at me like I’m a lunatic. In reality, I’m on the verge of vomiting.
Before Sarah can answer me, Sterling’s voice fills the hall.
“Before I give my presentation, I’d like to introduce a recent brilliant addition to our team.
I’m not just boasting about our hiring prowess either.
I want her on stage to answer questions.
She’s one of the most respected minds in AI, credited with developing ARGUS, and I’m thrilled to announce she’s now our chief technology officer. Please welcome Daisy Jonas.”
Applause floods the auditorium — so loud I wish I had earplugs.
I didn’t agree to present. No one mentioned this part of the plan. This is insane.
Something hard pushes my back and I stumble forward. “Go,” Sarah hisses, glaring as she motions me onto the stage.
The applause dwindles to scattered claps as I step out from behind the curtain and stare at a sea of suits and faces blurred into shapes.
“Here she is,” Sterling announces with the pride of a circus director. “What Ms. Jonas did for ARGUS, she’ll do for us. Sit back and prepare to take notes — we are going to alter the dynamics of investing.”
His pompous nonsense slices through the terror and my brain clicks into work mode. Does he have any idea how foolish he sounds? First, many investment houses already use predictive tools. Second, no one builds a foolproof model.
“And while I know Ms. Daisy is a beauty, you’re going to want to tear your eyes away from her and feast on the screen.”
Again — barf.
I take one of the three empty seats on stage, beside the man who introduced Sterling. The crowd resolves into familiar figures: the blonde I met, a dark-skinned man near the door — both KOAN. I’m not alone.
While Sterling preens, I steady myself by remembering KOAN’s plan — the one we rehearsed.
Quinn and her team are monitoring outgoing calls and texts from Sterling’s company lines.
They’ll check access logs on the portal immediately after the presentation.
Should Sterling accuse me of altering the slides or give us reason to question my safety, they have an extraction plan.
At least three employees prepared his presentation, and it’s been on the company server for days. He won’t know who changed it — only that someone connected dots and painted a picture that demands investigation.
Sterling Financial’s logo fills the screen. Sterling presses the enter button on the laptop at the podium. The video begins.
First slide: the firm’s name. Second frame: “Who Are We?” Third: “Why Should You Listen to Us?”
Then: “The Mensa Fund.”
Text flashes and enlarges for emphasis.
“Guaranteed high returns on crypto trading.”
Either a change in the narrator’s voice or the unexpected words on the screen alerts Sterling that something is wrong.
“$300 million lost.”
His frantic eyes meet mine. I sit frozen, immovable, like a crashed app.
“Used new funds to cover losses…until collapse.”
“No investigation.”
Sterling lunges at the laptop, pressing buttons, but nothing he does will stop it. We made sure of that.
“Why?”
Question marks bloom across the slide.
A photograph of Alvin Reed appears.
“This man led efforts to organize a class-action lawsuit.”
Next frame: Quinn’s graphic. “DEAD.”
Jocelyn Faribault’s photo — “Sterling Financial Comptroller.”
“DEAD.”
Ayesha Khanna’s photo — “Sterling Financial CFO, Singapore.”
“DEAD.”
“Turn it off!” Sterling shouts, looking to the back of the auditorium like it’s a movie theater.
The projected image warps and shudders.
“You!” Sterling screams, pointing at me. He charges forward, enraged.