When Senator John Neely Kennedy stormed into the private executive chamber at Meta’s headquarters, the entire corridor outside seemed to hold its breath. Mark Zuckerberg had been warned that the senator was coming, but no amount of preparation could have softened the energy that entered the room with him. Kennedy’s footsteps were sharp, angry echoes that bounced off the glass walls, and the security team exchanged nervous glances as he passed.

Mark rose from his seat, offering a cautious greeting, but Kennedy ignored the gesture.

Instead, he tossed a thick envelope onto the table. Photographs, screenshots, and printed posts spilled out across the polished surface like evidence in a courtroom. Kennedy’s voice cut through the air. “These lies are spreading like a virus. About my wife. About my brother. About me. And your platform is the engine.”

Mark inhaled slowly, steadying his voice. “Senator, we’re aware of the situation. Our team—”

“Our team?” Kennedy snapped. “My family is being dragged through the mud, and you stand there telling me about your team? These posts aren’t just rumors. They’re designed. Coordinated. And someone is paying for them.” He leaned forward, palms pressed into the table. “I want to know who.”

Mark hesitated. “It’s complicated. Tracking coordinated misinformation requires—”

“I don’t want to hear about algorithms,” Kennedy growled. “I want accountability.” He jabbed a finger toward the scattered papers. “My wife hasn’t slept in three nights. My brother is receiving threats. And every hour that passes, these lies multiply.”

Mark’s composure cracked for a moment, revealing exhaustion behind his eyes. “Senator, you’re not the only public figure dealing with this. These networks operate in shadows. They evolve, hide, and rebuild. We shut one down, three emerge.”

Kennedy’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Are you telling me you’ve lost control of your own creation?”

Silence.

Mark swallowed. “I’m telling you we’re fighting a war no one sees.”

Kennedy paced around the table, the tension rising like heat. “Then start showing me. I want access. Logs. Reports. Every trace of where these posts came from.”

Mark shook his head. “I can’t hand over private user data. Not without legal orders.”

Kennedy stopped abruptly. “Legal orders? Mark, don’t make me turn this into a Senate hearing you cannot walk away from.”

Mark remained still, but his jaw tightened. “If you push this publicly, senator, you’ll set a precedent that could be weaponized against anyone. Even you.”

Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you,” Mark said quietly. “This issue is bigger than either of us.”

For a moment, the room pulsed with silence.

Then Kennedy leaned in so close that Mark could hear his breath. “You will find whoever is behind this. You will shut them down. And you will give me answers before the week ends.”

Mark’s voice trembled slightly, though he tried to hide it. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Not what you can,” Kennedy corrected. “What you must.” He gathered the scattered papers back into the envelope. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to tear your entire empire open, brick by digital brick.”

Mark watched him turn toward the door, but then paused. “Senator.”

Kennedy didn’t look back.

Mark continued anyway. “These attacks… they look targeted. Not random. Someone wants you silenced.”

Kennedy froze.

Mark added, “And they’re willing to burn your whole family to do it.”

The room seemed to shrink. Kennedy turned slowly, eyes sharper now—not just angry, but afraid. “Who?”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But whoever it is… they’re not just attacking your reputation. They’re setting up something bigger.”

Kennedy exhaled through clenched teeth. “Then you’d better find them before they find what they’re after.”

As Kennedy left the room, the lights flickered—an electrical glitch, or something else entirely. Mark stood alone, staring at the door long after it closed.

Because the truth was, he had already suspected who was behind the attack.

And if his suspicions were right, neither Kennedy nor his family had any idea how deep the storm already ran.

Kennedy reached the elevator, but his phone buzzed before he could press the button. A new message. No sender. Just a single sentence: “Stop digging, or the next lie won’t be a lie.” His blood ran cold. He looked back down the hallway toward the chamber where Mark stood alone. For the first time that morning, Kennedy felt something unfamiliar coiling in his stomach: dread.

He returned the phone to his pocket and forced himself to breathe. Whoever orchestrated this wasn’t just some anonymous troll or political enemy. This was a machine—a network with resources, timing, and intention. And they had just made their first move directly at him.

Kennedy stepped into the elevator, the doors closing slowly. “You want a war?” he whispered to no one and everyone. Now.