***
"So, you're telling me we're after some fucking fixer?"
Judal's voice cut through the quiet hum of the room, dripping with disbelief.
Emir turned his gaze away from the hologram flickering in the center of the table—a near-perfect reconstruction of the man he'd built from memory—and looked at Judal, who was seated to Amon's right at the head of the table, his face showing frustration.
"Yeah, but not just any fixer."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"This guy's deep in the system, just below the CEO in level."
"So a manager?"
Emir nodded at Morgiana.
"AgroTech, or rather, Stellar trusts him enough to handle their messiest jobs, the kind they don't want anyone to even whisper about, so they have to keep his security on lock and key."
"So, what?"
Judal shot back, gesturing at the hologram.
"He's just some over-glorified hitman with a mop. Even you can kill him."
