She was holding a heavy, unopened bottle of Cabernet.

The camera caught the exact moment she swung it.

The sound was clear through the boardroom speakers—a sharp, sickening crack as the glass hit my collarbone and neck.

I watched myself fall to the tile floor on the screen.

A dark stain immediately began to soak through my collar.

Michael appeared in the frame next, grabbing the bottle from Patricia’s hand.

He didn’t check my pulse.

He didn’t call for an ambulance.

He looked directly at the camera, then pointed at Daniel.

“Get the server,” Michael’s digital voice boomed through the room.

“We need to clear this before the police get here.”

I pressed pause.

The frame froze on Michael’s face, his hand frozen mid-air.

The boardroom was completely quiet.

You could hear the hum of the ventilation system and the faint sound of traffic from the street below.

Daniel’s face had gone completely pale.

Michael sat perfectly still, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the frozen image of himself.

“This is the unaltered footage,” I said.