No, it's impossible. He's a broke nobody. Someone is taking the other side of these trades, Marcus yelled from across the room. The market isn't just absorbing our buys. There's an entity aggressively dumping these exact toxic assets onto us, forcing our algorithm to eat them.
Who? Victoria barked. Who is dumping? It's a shell firm. Apex Holdings.
They're flooding the market and our system is legally bound by its own code to buy them all. By 11:12 a.m., Cross Capital was down $3 billion. They were entirely illiquid. At 11:15 a.m., the first margin call came in from a major investment bank. Then another.
Victoria sat in her glass office, the door locked. Her phone was ringing constantly. Her board of directors was demanding an emergency meeting. She picked up the receiver and called her head of legal. Filing for bankruptcy protection, she said, her voice hollow.
Draft the Chapter 11 paperwork. Victoria, the lawyer said slowly, we can't. A private equity group just approached the board 10 minutes ago. They bought our debt from the clearing houses. All of it.
Victoria froze. Who? They hold all our margin debt. They are offering to convert the debt into equity to save the firm from bankruptcy. But the conversion rate gives them 51% of the voting shares.
They are executing a hostile takeover. I will not approve that, Victoria snarled. You don't have a choice, the lawyer replied gently. The board just voted unanimously to accept the offer. It's either that or they face personal liability for the negligence of the algorithmic failure.
They threw you to the wolves, Victoria. You've been removed as CEO effective immediately. The phone slipped from Victoria's hand. It bounced off the heavy desk and hung by its cord. She stared out the window.
Her empire, her fortress, gone in 90 minutes. The heavy glass door to her office opened. She didn't turn around. I told security no one is allowed in here, she whispered. Tears of rage finally spilling hot over her cheeks.
Security doesn't work for you anymore, a voice said. Victoria turned. Standing in the doorway was Aiden Caldwell. He wasn't wearing the frayed mismatched suit. He was wearing a dark, perfectly tailored wool suit.
His shoes were polished leather. He held a leather briefcase in one hand. The transformation was startling, but his eyes were exactly the same. Cold, steady, and carrying the weight of a man who had survived the worst the world had to offer. Behind him stood Thomas Reed grinning like a butcher.