The air in the engineering bunker was thin, saturated with the smell of overheated processors and raw ozone. The red numbers on the central monitor were in a freefall, the Syndicate's cryptographic siphon aggressively draining the blind trust's liquidity.
Twenty-two million. Eighteen million. Twelve million.
"Ryan," Diana warned, her voice tight, stepping closer to his side. The venture capitalist was watching the foundation of their logistics empire evaporate in real-time.
"If you open the firewalls completely, you aren't just risking the remaining capital. You're giving them an unobstructed pathway to trace the origin of your personal funds. If they map your primary accounts, they can freeze you globally."
"They can only trace what they can process," Ryan replied, his voice a low, immovable anchor against her panic. He didn't look away from his phone. "Iralis. Drop the walls. Now."
