I put my retirement savings into it. Are you telling me you were selling the whole time? Garrett pointed at Felicia. This woman is nobody. She's a waitress with a chip on her shoulder.
You're going to believe her over me? I'm going to believe the SEC filings, the man said. He sat back down, pulling out his phone. The room was fracturing. Garrett could feel it.
His allies retreating, his authority crumbling. He made one last attempt. Even if any of this were true, which it isn't, it doesn't matter. By Friday, Nexus will be at 160. The stock is solid.
The company is sound. And you, he jabbed a finger at Felicia, will be standing on that chair, apologizing to everyone here. Felicia tilted her head slightly. You're that confident. I don't lose ever.
Felicia nodded slowly. You know who else said that? Every person whose company you destroyed on the way up. The pension funds you raided. the small businesses you bankrupted. They all thought they wouldn't lose either.
Garrett's eyes narrowed. Business is war. The weak lose. That's not my fault. No.
Felicia agreed. But what happens next will be. Garrett opened his mouth to respond. And then every phone in the restaurant buzzed at once. The fund manager at Garrett's table looked down at his screen.
His face went gray. Oh my god, he whispered. All eyes turned to the CNBC screen on the wall. A red banner had appeared at the bottom. Breaking SEC announces formal investigation into Nexus Technologies.
Trading halted. The anchor's voice filled the silent room. In a stunning development, the Securities and Exchange Commission has announced a formal investigation into Nexus Technologies for suspected accounting fraud and securities violations. The stock price on screen was frozen, $142.50. But everyone knew, everyone understood that when trading resumed, Nexus wouldn't be worth half that, maybe not even a quarter.
Felicia Turner looked at Garrett Whitmore. "Still confident?" she asked. For a moment, nobody moved. The CNBC anchor kept talking, but her words seemed to come from very far away. Numbers scrolled across the screen.
Expert analysts appeared in small boxes, looking grave. None of it mattered. Everyone in the restaurant understood exactly what had just happened. The waitress had been right. The fund manager at Garrett's table, the one who'd laughed loudest at his jokes, who'd put $20 million into Nexus, stood up so quickly his chair crashed backward.
"I'm ruined," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm completely ruined. I put everything everything into Nexus because you told me to." Garrett's mouth opened, but no words came out. This is This is a coincidence. He finally managed.