Marise allowed herself a faint smile and typed:Corporate. Possibly federal. Target: bioenergy project. Attempted hit this week.
Another pause, then Lapwing replied:Payment?
Lark:Full trace. Trail to origin. Crypto. Same wallet.
Lapwing:Send what you’ve got. Names, contracts, any digital breadcrumbs. I'll pull the rest.
Marise uploaded the compressed data packet: Kathleen’s scrubbed research history, procurement lists, and internal files from the shell company she’d traced earlier. Then she leaned back and waited.
He’d follow the crypto trail backwards—wallets, conversions, sudden deletions. It was a thin thread, but it was all she had.
She looked up. Kathleen was scribbling something into a notepad, the pen flying across the page. She was mouthing something to herself, unaware Marise was watching. Her browwas furrowed, and she looked more alive than Marise had ever seen her. There was power in her intensity—real and unselfconscious. She might struggle socially and emotionally, but when it came to her work she was deeply focused and animated.
“What?” Kathleen said, sensing her eyes on her.
Marise shook her head. “Nothing. You look—” She hesitated, “like you’ve finally remembered who you are.”
Kathleen gave a small smile and turned back to her laptop. “I’m never hesitant with my work.”
Marise returned to her screen when she heard a buzz. Lapwing had sent another message.Found something. Funding looped through a shell firm out of Delaware. Name on the formation docs is fake—but the signature matches another file I’ve seen. Gimme a sec.
She stared at the blinking cursor.
Okay. Got him. You’re not going to like it.
Try me.
He’s Philip Conway. A Congressman and member of the House Energy Subcommittee. Tied to multiple fossil fuel PACs. Took meetings last quarter with executives from Astera and Verdantis Petro. Same day as your contract was signed.
Marise’s heart went still, and she sat back, thinking.
Conway. She remembered the name. A rising conservative from Texas. Handsome, clean-cut, media-friendly. He spoke in buzzwords like “responsible energy transition,” “protecting American jobs,” and “economic security.” A man who smiled as he blocked environmental bills in committee.
He wasn’t merely in the pocket of Big Oil—he was entrenched in the lining.
Marise typed back:Motive?
Your girl’s project. Rumour it’ll damage oil sales bigtime. Contract out on her.
Marise stared at the words. Just what she though. If Kathleen died without publishing, they’d force the institute to close down the project. It was still all supposition—no one knew what she’d engineered in the lab, but she had told them what Ted had said. Kathleen was close to publishing.
Fuck. It had forced Conway to take action.
Kathleen looked up again. “Everything okay?”
“I’ve found our saboteur.” Marise’s voice was even.
Kathleen frowned. “Who?”
Marise closed the laptop with a soft snap and walked over. “You ever heard of Philip Conway?”
“The congressman? He was on a panel about environmental ethics last year. Ted watched the whole thing and swore he wanted to throttle him.”
“Well,” Marise said, perching on the table edge, “you might get your chance.”
She explained what she’d learned, watching Kathleen’s expression darken by degrees.
“You’re sure?” Kathleen asked when she’d finished.
