Page 135 of Hunt Me

Amateur.

“This proves nothing,” Kendall says, but her voice lacks conviction. “Financial records can be fabricated?—”

“Can they?” Dmitri’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because I have authentication codes, transaction timestamps, and digital signatures that will hold up in any court you choose.”

He pauses, letting that sink in.

“What you’re looking at represents approximately five percent of what we’ve acquired.” He smooths an invisible wrinkle from his suit jacket. “The remaining ninety-five percent details every payment, every authorization, every single individual involved in Sentinel’s operations for the last eight years.”

Walsh’s eye begins to twitch.

Alexi shifts beside me, the movement drawing attention like a spotlight. He pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling deliberately slowly.

“General Hawkins,” he says, tone conversational, almost friendly. “How is your daughter Sarah? Still at Stanford?”

Hawkins goes rigid. Every muscle in his body locks.

“Impressive research in bioengineering, if I recall correctly.” Alexi’s fingers continue their lazy scroll across his screen. “Her paper on CRISPR applications was particularly fascinating.”

The threat doesn’t need to be explicit.

Walsh stops breathing entirely. Hawkins’s face drains of color, jaw working soundlessly.

Nikolai leans forward, drawing their focus back to him. His voice carries the smooth, dangerous quality of a blade sliding from its sheath.

Kendall’s fingers drum against the folder, a staccato rhythm that betrays the calculations happening behind her perfectly composed exterior. She exchanges a glance with Walsh, then Hawkins—the kind of silent communication that comes from years of working in synchronized bureaucracy.

I recognize the shift. The moment strategy pivots from offense to survival.

“What do you want?” Kendall asks finally, her shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly. The first genuine willingness to negotiate bleeds through her professional armor.

Nikolai doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t gloat. Pure business.

“Full investigation of Sentinel Operations. Federal oversight with quarterly public reports.” He ticks off each point with clinical precision. “Immunity for the Ivanovs’ actions in acquiring this intelligence. Public statement that Project Nightshade was unsanctioned and has been terminated, effective immediately.”

He pauses, steel eyes locked on Kendall.

“And Iris Mitchell receives full exoneration for any alleged breaches committed during her investigation into her parents’ murder.”

My chest tightens. He included me. Made my freedom non-negotiable.

Walsh’s jaw works, grinding teeth audible in the silence. “You’re demanding we admit to criminal operations?—”

“We’re demanding you tell the truth.” Dmitri’s interruption carries refined menace. “Consider it a novel concept.”

Hawkins shifts, leather chair creaking beneath him. “The intelligence community will never accept these terms. You’re asking us to dismantle operational security?—”

“I’m asking you to dismantle a murder program.” I step forward, hands flat against the table. “There’s a difference.”

Kendall closes the folder with deliberate precision. “And if we refuse?”

Alexi’s smile doesn’t touch his eyes. “Then we release everything.”

He sets his phone on the table between us, screen facing them. A timer counts down—twelve hours, forty-three minutes remaining.

“Journalists will have those files in the next twelve hours if Alexi doesn’t kill it. Time-stamped releases are scheduled across major outlets.Washington Post.New York Times.Guardian.” Each name lands like a body blow. “We give them names, operations, funding chains, authorization signatures.”

His finger hovers over the screen.