The first thing I noticed about the immigration center was the noise.
Not loud noise—no shouting, no chaos—but life noise. Phones ringing. Kids laughing in Spanish I half-understood. The hum of old computers working harder than they should. The scrape of chairs on tile floors. It felt nothing like my father’s offices, where everything was quiet and expensive and designed to make you feel small.
“This is where policy lands,” Leo said beside me, lowering his voice like we’d stepped into a church.
I adjusted my blazer out of habit, immediately hating myself for it. I’d dressed like I was going to a donor luncheon, not a place where people waited hours just to be seen.
Maria Vasquez greeted us with a quick hug for Leo and a measured nod for me. “Hannah. Thank you for coming.”
That word—thank you—hit harder than any insult. Like she wasn’t sure I deserved to be here.
I followed them past rows of plastic chairs filled with families clutching folders thicker than my AP Government textbook. A little girl with braids kicked her feet against her mother’s chair, humming off-key. A man stared at the floor like it might give him answers.
These are the numbers, my brain tried to do its thing. Caseloads. Approval rates. Timelines.
But numbers had faces here.
We sat in the back office, walls plastered with flyers about work permits and court dates. Leo pulled up a spreadsheet on one of the computers. “This is how we currently prioritize cases. Emergency first, then family reunification, then everything else.”
I leaned in despite myself. “Your weighting system is off.”
Both of them looked at me.
“If you shift ten percent of resources from low-risk renewals to first-time asylum cases, you cut average processing time by twelve days,” I said automatically. “Which reduces appeal filings. Which saves money.”
Leo blinked. “You… actually care.”
I bristled. “I’m not here for a photo op.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because no one’s filming.”
For a moment, something fragile settled between us. Respect, maybe. Or at least the absence of contempt.
Then every screen in the room went black.
A second later, white text bled onto the monitors like a wound opening.
BORDER SECURITY FUND FLOW — LIVE TRACE
My stomach dropped.
Lines of numbers cascaded down the screens, charts snapping into place with terrifying precision.
70% — PRIVATE SECURITY CONTRACTORS
30% — UNACCOUNTED
Someone had labeled the accounts. Shell companies. Offshore transfers.
My breath caught. “That’s… that’s one of my father’s approved initiatives.”
Leo turned to me sharply. “You recognize it?”
“I recognize the structure,” I said, heart pounding. “But the figures—someone altered them. This isn’t how it was reported.”
Maria’s face had gone dangerously still. “This isn’t my system.”
Before anyone could move, the back door slammed open.
“Hey, followers,” Skylar’s voice rang out, sickeningly cheerful. She stood there with her phone raised, red LIVE icon glowing. “Guess where I am?”
My blood went cold.
“Live from an immigration center where the governor’s daughter is illegally accessing government data,” Skylar continued, panning the camera to my face. “Care to comment, Hannah?”
I stepped back instinctively. “You’re trespassing.”
“Oh please,” Skylar laughed. “This is public interest.”
Maria moved fast—faster than I expected. She reached out and snapped Skylar’s phone shut.
The livestream died.
Silence slammed into the room.
Skylar’s smile faltered. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did,” Maria said calmly. “And before you scream censorship, let me ask you something. Your father still works for Sentinel Ridge Security, right?”
Skylar stiffened.
“That’s one of the contractors listed,” Maria continued, tapping the screen. “If Hannah’s illegally accessing data, then your father is implicated in embezzlement of public funds.”
Color drained from Skylar’s face.
Leo stared at his mother. “Mom—”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Maria replied. She turned back to Skylar. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to sit down. You’re going to stop recording. And you’re going to listen.”
Skylar lowered herself into a chair like her bones had turned to water.
“This hack wasn’t us,” Maria said. “It was surgical. Clean. Designed to incriminate two families at once.”
Leo frowned. “My dad doesn’t—”
“I know,” Maria said. “And neither does Hannah’s father. Not like this.”
All eyes turned to me.
I swallowed. “You’re saying this came from the opposition campaign.”
“Yes,” Maria said. “They want chaos. They want headlines. They want voters choosing sides instead of asking questions.”
I felt something click into place, sharp and irreversible.
“All this time,” I said slowly, “we’ve been arguing what the policy should be.”
Leo nodded. “Security versus humanity.”
“But the real debate,” I finished, meeting his eyes, “is who’s making money off the divide.”
Skylar let out a shaky breath. “If this gets out… my dad—”
“Is already in danger,” Maria said gently. “Which is why we either burn each other down, or we work together.”
The room felt too small for the truth sitting in it.
I straightened my shoulders, not as the governor’s daughter, but as myself. “Then we change the narrative.”
Leo’s lips curved, just slightly. “Now you’re debating.”
Outside, the phones kept ringing. Families kept waiting.
And somewhere, someone was watching us realize we weren’t enemies at all.