The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Corporate espionage.

Breaking a vase was a domestic annoyance. Leaking financial data was a federal crime. It was treason against the family blood.

Arthur stared at the phone screen, his hands trembling. "Who... who did this?"

"Read the article, Dad," Archer urged, practically vibrating with malice. "It cites a 'source close to the family.' And look at the angle of the photo. It was taken from the cleaner's chair."

Arthur looked up. His eyes were no longer angry; they were dead. Cold.

"You," he whispered, looking at Kala. "You ungrateful little..."

"Oh my god," Karly gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Kala... did you do this because of the argument we had yesterday? To hurt Daddy?"

It was the nail in the coffin. Karly had supplied the motive.

Arthur lunged forward. He grabbed Kala by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. He shook her, his composure shattering.

"Is it true? Did you sell us out? For what? Money? Spite?"

Kala felt the pain in her shoulders, but she didn't pull away. She needed to see the evidence.

"Let me see the phone," she said. Her voice was calm, contrasting sharply with Arthur's hysteria.

"Look at it!" Arthur shoved the phone into her chest. "Look at your handiwork!"

Kala caught the device. She scanned the article.

The Daily Scandal. Editor: Hightower.

She knew Hightower. In her future life as "Queen," she had destroyed his server twice just for sport. He was a bottom-feeder who paid for trash and didn't verify sources.

She looked at the photo of the document. It was blurry, taken in low light.

"This article was posted twenty minutes ago," Kala said.

"So?" Archer scoffed. "You probably scheduled it. Don't act like you don't know how to use email."

Kala zoomed in on the photo. She ignored Archer. She was looking for metadata, but on a screenshot, that was impossible. She had to rely on visual forensics.

"Look at the screen in the photo," Kala said, pointing to the bottom right corner of the monitor captured in the image. "The clock."

Arthur squinted. "It's blurry."

"It says 14:00," Kala said. "2:00 PM yesterday."

"So you took it yesterday afternoon!" Archer yelled.

"At 2:00 PM yesterday," Kala said, looking at Doloris, "I was with you, Mom. We were at the fitting for the gala dresses. Remember? You made me try on that green monstrosity for an hour."

Doloris blinked. She looked at the ceiling, searching her memory. "I... yes. We were at the boutique from 1:30 to 4:00."

Archer froze. "Maybe... maybe the clock on the computer is wrong!"

"Arthur keeps his clocks synced to the atomic standard for trading," Kala said dryly. "And besides, Hightower is a hack."

She looked at Arthur. "If you want the truth, call him."

"Call who?" Arthur asked.

"Hightower. The editor." Kala held out the phone. "Call him right now. Put him on speaker. If I sold the story, he'll have a record of me."

"He won't reveal his source," Jules said. "Journalistic integrity."

"Hightower has no integrity," Kala said. "He has a price. And he's a coward. Call him, Dad. Unless you're afraid of what he'll say."

Arthur hesitated. He looked at the article, then at Kala. The alibi with Doloris was strong. Doubt was creeping in.

He took the phone. He dialed the number listed on the "Contact Us" page for urgent tips.

Kala watched him. She knew exactly how Hightower operated. And she knew exactly how to break him.

Arthur pressed the speaker button. The line rang. Once. Twice.

"Hightower speaking. Who's this?" The voice was greasy, impatient.

"This is Arthur Kensington," Arthur barked.

A pause. Then, a complete shift in tone. "Mr. Kensington! To what do I owe the pleasure? I assume you've seen our latest scoop?"

"I want to know who gave it to you," Arthur demanded. "Now."

"Now, now, Mr. Kensington," Hightower chuckled. "You know I can't do that. Source protection is sacred. First Amendment and all that."

"I will sue you into oblivion," Arthur threatened. "I will buy your publication just to burn it down."

"Threats won't work," Hightower said, though his voice wavered slightly. "Look, it was an anonymous tip. Encrypted email."

"From who?"

"The sender signed it 'K.K.'," Hightower said. "Said she was the only sane person in the house."

K.K. Kala Kensington.

The room gasped.

"It was you!" Archer shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

Karly let out a whimper. "Kala... why did you use your initials? You wanted to get caught? You wanted to hurt us that badly?"

Arthur stared at Kala, his face twisting into a mask of betrayal. "You signed it?"

Kala didn't answer Arthur. Her eyes flickered to Karly, whose expression was a perfect blend of sorrow and vindication. Then Kala smiled, a small, cold curve of her lips.

"K.K.?" Kala said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Interesting. In this house, I'm not the only one with those initials, am I, Karly?"

Karly's mask of grief faltered for a fraction of a second.

Kala leaned toward the phone. She closed her eyes for a second, focusing not on Hightower's voice, but on the background noise.

It was faint. Most people wouldn't hear it over the static. But Kala's ears were trained.

Clack-clack. Clack-clack.

A rhythmic metallic thud.

And then, a very distant, muffled robotic voice. "Stand clear of the closing doors."

Kala opened her eyes. She smiled.

"Mr. Hightower," Kala said, her voice projecting clearly. "This is the 'source' speaking."

"Oh," Hightower sounded confused. "Uh, hello?"

"You have terrible soundproofing in your office," Kala said.

"I... what? I'm in a meeting room," Hightower lied.

"Really?" Kala raised an eyebrow. "Because I can hear the Number 7 train. You're passing through Queensboro Plaza right now, aren't you?"

Silence on the line.

The family looked at Kala, baffled. They heard nothing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hightower stammered. "I'm in my office in Midtown."

"Your office is on the 42nd floor of the Hearst Tower," Kala said. "You can't hear the subway from the 42nd floor. But you can hear it if you're commuting from your apartment in Long Island City."

"I... I have the window open!"

"Windows in the Hearst Tower don't open," Kala said. "It's a climate-controlled sealed glass facade."

Dead silence.

Arthur looked at the phone. He knew the Hearst Tower. He knew the windows didn't open.

"Who are you?" Hightower whispered.

"I'm the girl you're lying about," Kala said. "Now, tell my father the truth. You didn't receive an email from K.K., did you?"