"The timing, it doesn't." "Is it a coincidence?" Felicia asked. Her voice was calm, almost gentle. "I told you to sell before Tuesday. Today is Saturday. You had 3 days.
You chose to bet against me instead." Caroline Hayes walked toward the table, her phone still in her hand. Her face was pale, her expression hard. "I just called my office," she said. We're pulling every scent from Whitmore Capital. Effective immediately.
This is a disaster, Garrett. Caroline. Wait. Don't. She held up her hand.
Just don't. Garrett reached toward her, but she stepped back as if he were contagious. The phones hadn't stopped buzzing. All around the restaurant, wealthy diners were calling their brokers, their lawyers, their financial adviserss. Voices overlapped in a rising tide of panic.
Sell everything. How much exposure do we have? Get me out of Nexus now. A woman stood up, her face flushed with anger. I bought 200,000 shares last month.
You said it would double. My clients trusted your recommendation. Another man shouted. They trusted you. Garrett spun in a slow circle, watching his world collapse.
The people who'd laughed at his jokes 5 minutes ago wouldn't meet his eyes. The associates who'd flattered him for years were already distancing themselves. Bradley, the senator's aid, was speaking urgently into his phone. The senator needs to issue a statement immediately, complete distance from Whitmore. No, he never endorsed any investments.
Yes, I understand. The senator's wife had vanished entirely. In the middle of the chaos, Felicia Turner stood perfectly still. Derek had emerged from the kitchen. He was staring at her like he'd never seen her before.
"She called it," someone said, loud enough for the room to hear. "The waitress called it to the minute." "Who is she?" another voice demanded. Harold Brennan had returned to his seat. He watched Felicia with quiet pride, the student he'd never officially taught, proving everything he'd suspected about her. "Who are you?" The question came from multiple directions now.
How did you know? Felicia looked around the room at all these rich, powerful people who'd ignored her for 2 years or worse, humiliated her. I'm someone who reads the footnotes, she said. Then she turned back to Garrett Whitmore, who stood frozen at the center of his collapsing universe. Our bet, she said simply, Nexus won't be above 150 by Friday.
You owe $100,000 to financial literacy programs. Garrett's face twisted with rage. This isn't over, he hissed. Felicia almost smiled. No, she agreed.
It isn't. Garrett Witmore was a survivor. He'd built his career on ruthlessness, on finding angles, on never admitting weakness. Even now, with his investment thesis crumbling on live television, his mind was racing through escape routes. Deny everything.