The hall fell silent again, drawn in by some invisible force, as though the air itself thickened in anticipation.

Director Hannel’s mic light flared on with a sharp click. MJ caught the slight tremor in the man’s fingers as he activated the mic. But his expression was still the same.

"Are you sure he was the one responsible for the leak?" Director Hannel’s voice cut through the room, sharp and accusatory. "And not you?"

A few heads jerked up.

MJ couldn’t tell whether this man was smart or stupid. The question was so blatant that it was almost comedic.

Even if Neville never said a word, MJ had already pieced together that Director Hannel was somehow one of the names projected on the holographic screens—probably flagged for potential involvement.

But what surprised MJ wasn’t the question. It was Neville’s reaction.

Neville tilted his head slightly—as though he found the accusation... interesting. He did not look offended or threatened, but only curious.

"As an orphan," Neville began, voice steady, "with no money, no power, and no lineage..."

He let the words hang as they echoed through everyone’s hearts that they couldn’t ignore. Even the executives pretending to review the file given to them froze. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"A charity hire," he continued, raising his voice a touch, "who just so happens to own the patent on the AI system known as Compass."

That got the room’s attention.

"The very technology," Neville added, "that was said to be leaked."

There was silence before delivering the finishing strike.

"Tell me, Director Hannel," Neville said, furrowing his brow as if genuinely perplexed, "don’t you think I would want to earn my share from that technology more than anyone else in this room? Why would I sabotage my own creation? My own future?"

Silence was excruciating.

MJ watched Director Hannel’s face change through several unfortunate expressions. None of them flattering and all of them far too obvious.

But Neville’s words hadn’t only slapped Director Hannel.

No—they landed on everyone who had ever used the words charity case, undeserving, unqualified, street rat, or lucky orphan behind Neville’s back.

The room collectively inhaled, then held that breath with the uncomfortable truth.

Because the logic was there.

Why would the orphan with no backing, whose entire life’s work and entire future were tied to the success of this single project, sabotage his own creation?

Meanwhile, the executives with comfortable salaries, powerful families, political ties, and plenty of rival interests...

The implications were obvious.

Director Hannel opened his mouth as he searched for a retort that wouldn’t make him look like an absolute fool. His hesitation stretched into a painful beat of awkwardness, but he forced himself to speak anyway.

"That’s... your circumstances—"

"—Furthermore," Neville continued smoothly, cutting through Director Hannel’s attempted defense without giving him even a breath of space, "the evidence trail has already been documented and verified by both internal security and external military investigators."

A ripple of alarm spread through the room at the word military.

Neville tapped the control panel, and new files illuminated the air—timestamps, encrypted chats, account transfers, device logs.

"Marcus Chen was caught in the act by me," Neville said, tone still maddeningly calm, "and attacked me in the process. He was found in possession of an illegal device. He was arrested and was scheduled to be transferred to military custody upon sentencing."

Neville’s glasses caught the overhead light at just the right angle, glinting like a blade.

"He was sentenced to eternal exile," Neville continued, "and was to be transported to Vankila’s Main Planet."

Gasps rippled across the room. Vankila meant a death sentence.

"However," Neville went on, voice cooling several more degrees, "during the transfer process, his transport vehicle suffered... ’mechanical failure.’"

Several people flinched.

"The military conducted search and rescue operations. During the attempted extraction, a secondary explosion occurred. After recovering the remains, the military confirmed Marcus Chen was among the deceased."

A heaviness settled, and even MJ felt the chill crawling up his spine.

Director Cox’s mic light activated again with a muted click.

"This is all very dramatic, Mr. Hope," he said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected. MJ’s ears were sharp, and he heard the tremor under the man’s tone. "But I fail to see how a deceased logistics worker’s alleged misconduct is relevant to this project meeting."

Deceased. Alleged. MJ narrowed his eyes. Director Cox was so rattled that no matter how he tried to hide it, he still slipped.

"It’s relevant," Neville replied calmly, "because Marcus Chen did not act alone."

A collective, subtle change pulsed through the hall—executives straightening, their light brains’ holographic screens lowering, eyes sharpening.

"The investigation is ongoing," Neville said. "However, preliminary findings indicate a network of individuals within Maxwell Corporation has been working against the company’s interests."

He scanned the room.

"Some are motivated by financial gain."

A pause.

"Others by... external loyalties."

Everyone understood what that meant.

And sitting in the front row—HW Corporation’s George and Keaton Hewitt.

George stiffened, eyes narrowing into cautious calculation. Keaton, on the other hand, was grinning—feral, delighted, hungry for chaos.

Director Hannel tried again, voice rising in pitch. "These are serious allegations. If you’re implying—"

"I’m not implying anything, Director Hannel." Neville’s smile didn’t change but became even sharper. "I am presenting evidence. The findings of that evidence are the responsibility of the appropriate authorities."

And as if summoned by cue—

The doors slid open with a resonant hiss.

Julius and Bryan entered, leading a full security detail—the Hidden Guards in full gear—moving in silent formation. They spread out, blocking every entrance and exit in one coordinated sweep.

The temperature in the room dropped.

"Continue, Mr. Hope," a steady voice commanded.

All eyes turned to Grayson Maxwell.

MJ straightened involuntarily. Grayson rarely spoke during meetings—not unless things had reached a threshold that demanded intervention.

"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell." Neville inclined his head, poised and unshaken.

MJ watched him in disbelief.

Even when he was surrounded by hostile executives, backed by military documents, flanked by security forces, Neville stood as if nothing in this situation mattered to him.