Chapter 37 Aaron
Aaron
Location: Mobile Command — Moving
Time: Same
Ronan’s screens look like chaos.
But they’re not.
They’re structure.
Layers of names, arrows, timelines, and connections stretching across jurisdictions like a living map.
“This isn’t one villain,” he says. “It’s a coalition.”
I stand just behind him, arms crossed, eyes scanning the data as it shifts in real time.
“Who benefits?” I ask.
“Everyone who profits from controlled outcomes,” Ronan replies.
He highlights nodes as he speaks.
“Financial enforcement groups.”
“Private intelligence firms.”
“Three shell NGOs presenting as anti-corruption alliances.”
I let that settle.
“Control the narrative,” I say. “Control the investigations.”
“Exactly.”
“And Peter Jenkins?”
Ronan pauses.
Then taps a node.
Jenkins’ name lights up—connected, threaded, positioned exactly where it matters most.
“A broker,” Ronan says. “He didn’t start this. He facilitated it.”
“He sold her out.”
“Yes.”
“To save the program?” I ask.
“And himself.”
I stare at the screen.
At the name.
At the connection.
“She trusted him.”
Ronan doesn’t soften it.
“Which is why it worked.”
My jaw tightens.
Because trust isn’t a weakness.
It’s something people exploit.
“Find me something real,” I say.
“Something we can use.”
Something that breaks this open.
Ronan goes quiet.
That’s never a good sign.
Keys tap slower now.
More deliberate.
Then—
“I might have something worse.”
I shift slightly. “Define worse.”
He pulls up another layer.
Older.
Deeper.
Buried under multiple access restrictions.
“The original funding for her research,” he says. “I finally got through the masking.”
The screen resolves.
Numbers.
Transfers.
Approvals routed through shadow channels.
It clicks.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
Ronan exhales.
“A black budget oversight group.”
Silence.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Meaning?” I press.
“They were watching her,” he says.
“From the beginning.”
Before the NGO.
Before the archive.
Before the flash drive.
Before she even knew what she was building.
“They didn’t hijack her work,” I say slowly.
Ronan shakes his head.
“No.”
The word lands heavy.
“They cultivated it.”
And now—
“They’re harvesting it.”
The room goes still.
Because this just got bigger.
A lot bigger.