Willa never read it that day.
She was working.
Eleven pitch decks remained after Prism was removed.
Founders still had meetings.
Companies still deserved evaluation.
At 3:03, Prism received the formal summit notice.
Pitch access revoked.
Booth privileges revoked.
Incident report pending.
Copies sent to the company’s listed executive contacts and board representatives.
Garrett read the email in the hotel lobby.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Tessa stood beside him.
“What do we do?”
He stared at the screen.
“For what?”
“This.”
Garrett finally looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
That sentence frightened Tessa more than anger would have.
Garrett always knew what to say.
Or believed he did.
Brad joined them.
His face was pale.
“We need to call the board.”
Garrett snapped, “Not yet.”
“They’re copied.”
“Then we get ahead of it.”
“With what?”
“Context.”
Brad stared at him.
“What context?”
Garrett's voice rose.
“She was sitting in a restricted—”