Read Chapter 33: The Assembly

The press conference room smelled of stale coffee and nervous sweat. Jazz stood behind the podium, her palms damp against the mahogany edge, scanning the faces of the journalists who had shown up on ninety minutes' notice. Twelve bodies. Not bad for a Tuesday afternoon.

Tom stood beside her, his collar askew, dark circles under his eyes. They hadn't slept since the blog post went live. Since Priya had agreed.

"Today," Jazz began, her voice steadier than she felt, "we're making a statement that goes beyond our company. It goes beyond patent disputes and hostile takeovers. It goes to the heart of how startups in this city are being treated—"

"Get them!" A shout cut through the room. The back door slammed open. Priya stood there, flanked by two security guards from Vikram Shah Holdings, her face pale and drawn.

Jazz's throat closed. *No. Not again.*

"Ms. Okafor," one of the guards said, stepping forward, "we need to speak with you. Privately."

"You need to leave." Tom moved in front of the podium. "This is a private event."

The journalists' phones were already out, cameras clicking, capturing the scene. Jazz watched Priya's eyes—wide, apologetic, terrified. She was mouthing something. *Run.*

"Let me explain," Jazz said, stepping around Tom. "Priya, what's happening?"

Priya shook her head, tears forming. "They found out. They have cameras in the care facility. They saw me talking to you yesterday. They threatened—"

One of the guards grabbed Priya's arm. "That's enough."

"Let her go." Jazz's voice cracked across the room like a whip. She turned to the journalists. "Ladies and gentlemen, this woman is being coerced by Vikram Shah Holdings. She has evidence—video evidence—of the CEO admitting to threatening her family. And this is what they do when their secrets get out. They send security to silence her in public."

A murmur rippled through the room. Phones lifted higher, recording everything.

The guard released Priya's arm but didn't move. "Ms. Okafor, I'm going to ask you one more time—"

"You're not asking anything." Jazz walked toward Priya, extending her hand. "Priya, come with me. You're safe here. These people just witnessed what happened. If they hurt you now, there are witnesses. Journalists. Live feeds."

Priya hesitated. Her eyes flicked between Jazz and the guards. Then she stepped forward, taking Jazz's hand.

The guards exchanged glances but didn't move.

Jazz guided Priya to the stage, positioning her behind the podium's protective curve. She faced the audience again. The journalists had gone quiet, recording everything.

"This is Priya Sharma," Jazz said. "She used to be one of our most trusted engineers before Vikram Shah Holdings forced her to leave. She's here today to tell you the truth about what happens when you stand in their way."

Priya gripped the podium. Her voice wavered when she began. "I didn't want to do any of it. They found me after I resigned—two days later, they contacted me with a non-compete agreement that included my mother's medical care. She has MS. The treatment costs more than I make in a year. They offered to cover it if I signed. If I *cooperated*."

She paused, breathing hard. "I leaked information. I helped them sabotage AppForge's development. I did it because my mother would die without her treatment, and it was the only way I could afford it."

A journalist raised a hand. "Do you have proof of these allegations?"

Priya pulled the USB key from her pocket. "Video. Recordings of Vikram Shah himself, boasting about the threats he used to keep me in line. I have documents linking his shell companies to the non-compete agreement."

The room erupted. Questions fired from every direction.

*"When was this recorded?"* *"Where is Vikram Shah right now?"* *"Are you pursuing criminal charges?"*

Jazz stepped forward, shielding Priya from the deluge. "We'll release a full statement later tonight. But the evidence will be made public. Every document. Every recording. What happens to Vikram Shah Holdings is up to the authorities."

---

By evening, the headlines had shifted from Tom's patent confession to something bigger.

**"STARTUP DEATH THREATS: Insiders Expose Vikram Shah's Coercion Tactics"**

Downloads spiked. In six hours, their rebuilt app—with the new integrated features clumsily patched over their demo version—climbed past thirty thousand installs. The site analytics went haywire, traffic doubling and tripling every hour.

Jazz's phone vibrated in three separate bursts as they sat in the living room, takeout containers cooling untouched between them.

"A national outlet wants an interview." Tom looked at his own phone. "And an offer for two million in seed funding from a firm that previously turned us down. And—" He stopped.

"And what?"

"Vikram Shah just posted a statement." Tom handed her his phone.

The screen showed a video thumbnail. Jazz pressed play.

Vikram sat in an ornate office, the London skyline behind him, perfectly composed. "I'm aware of the baseless accusations circulating today, and I want to address them directly. My company has always operated with integrity. Miss Sharma is a disgruntled former employee who was terminated for underperformance and has chosen to fabricate a narrative that will, I believe, crumble under basic scrutiny. We are pursuing legal action against her and against AppForge for defamation and malicious interference."

Jazz watched the video end. The screen went dark.

"That's it?" Tom said. "That's his defense? Call her a liar?"

"He knows the video is real." Jazz set the phone down. "He knows what she has. This is a play to seed doubt while they bury it legally."

A knock at the door made both of them freeze.

Tom moved to the window, peering through the blinds. "We have visitors."

Jazz joined him. Two men in suits stood outside, flanking a third figure—Eleanor Vance from the tech blog. The journalist who had given them the noon deadline. She hadn't taken the no response as an answer.

"Open it," Jazz said.

Tom hesitated. "Given everything that's happening—"

"She's been chasing this story for weeks. She knows something." Jazz opened the door.

Eleanor stepped in, brushing past her without waiting for an invitation. "You caused quite a stir today. I counted seventeen outlets covering your press conference. But you still haven't answered my question from this morning."

"Which was?" Jazz crossed her arms.

"The mole." Eleanor pulled out her phone, tapping through screens. "I've been investigating Vikram Shah Holdings for six months. The person who contacted me initially—anonymously—told me there was a leak inside AppForge that predates Priya's involvement. Someone close to you who was selling information before she ever left the company."

Jazz's stomach dropped. "You have a name."

"I have a description." Eleanor looked up from her phone. "Mid-thirties. Male. Regular at the White Horse pub near your office. Does that help?"

The floor tilted. Jazz turned to Tom.

His face had lost all color.