The room was the same, quiet, gray, stripped of any soul. Just the low hum of machines and the soft clatter of keys. I came in at the usual time. No one looked up.
Except the team leader. He stood by the printer, flipping through a thick file, eyes scanning fast. He didn't greet me. Just pointed with his chin.
"Stijn's out. You'll take over his task."
That was it. No explanation. No briefing.
I walked to the far desk Stijn usually sat at. A thick binder sat beside the monitor, along with a printed sheet that had handwritten notes scribbled on the margins.
The task was simple on paper: prepare and send the weekly internal report of a small-cap company, Neurex Systems NV. The data would be sent to the Market Analysis Division upstairs, who compiled reports for private clients and selected publications.
I opened the file. Pulled the data.
The numbers made no sense.
Last week, Neurex's closing stock price was €4.62. Volume traded: low. Barely anyone knew the name. But the sheet I was told to send, listed the price as €17.89.
I blinked. Looked again. Refreshed everything. Even checked the stock through an external site on my phone.
Still €4.62.
I scanned the rest of the report. Everything else seemed… edited. Neatly. No obvious mistakes. But all of it skewed.
Profit margins were higher. Growth rate faked. A sudden 'product development partnership' with a Luxembourg firm that didn't even exist.
I turned to the team lead. "This can't be right."
He was back at his desk, typing.
He didn't look up. "What isn't?"
"These numbers. Neurex. It's not €17.89. It's trading at €4.62."
He finally looked. His eyes were flat. "Send the report as it is."
"But it's false. It's not even close."
Another team member. Thin guy, sharp nose, always chewing gum. "Told you this intern was gonna be a headache."
I ignored him. "This report goes to Market Analysis. If they publish this—"
"—Then they'll publish it."
The team lead stood up now. Walked toward me slowly.
"You were told to do a task. Not run a moral investigation."
He was close now. Not angry. Just calm. Too calm.
"Cassian. Listen carefully. You're part of this team now. You follow what we do. No edits. No questions."
I didn't reply. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He leaned in slightly. "Do. Not. Ask. Again."
Then walked back.
The gum-chewer threw a fake thumbs-up from his desk. "Welcome to the real world, champ."
I clicked send.
Three days passed.
Tuesday afternoon, I was eating a sandwich at my desk. Just cold turkey and bread. Nothing fancy. My screen pinged, a notification from the internal news tracker.
Market Spotlight: Neurex Systems NV makes sudden jump in mid-tier tech listing.
I stared.
Opened the article.
It quoted the updated numbers. "Sources suggest a growth trend backed by early partnerships and high-margin projections."
I checked the market site again.
Neurex was now at €11.38. And climbing.
Comments online were full of excitement. "Hidden gem!" "Big players backing this?" "Buy now before it explodes!"
It was laughable.
That night, at home, I looked deeper.
Neurex's site was bare. Just a single page. No staff. No team. No address. Their "Luxembourg partner" didn't even have a license.
I sat there for a long time.
After a while, I just closed my laptop. Slowly.
Leaned back in the chair, watching the ceiling like it could answer something.
This was how they did it. This is how the world moved.
Not with truth.
But with perception.
And a handful of people deciding what version of reality gets published.
The next morning, no one said a word about it.
The team worked like usual. Silent. Focused.
The team lead didn't look at me.
But when I passed his desk, I noticed a faint smirk on his lips.
And on his screen: another company name.
Another report.
Another number.
I kept walking.
A week passed since then.
The door closed with a soft click behind me. The room felt heavier than usual.
Something was off.
The air was tense. The team sat in silence around the table, folders open, files spread, brows furrowed. Even the gum-chewer wasn't chewing.
They were in the middle of a conversation I hadn't been part of.
I kept my head down and started working at my desk. But their voices carried.
"He bought shares in Genvia Labs three days before the merger was supposed to be announced."
"Documents are already flagged by the FSMA. If they connect the dots, we're screwed."
I paused.
Insider trading.
Buying stocks isn't illegal. But buying stocks using non-public information? That's a crime. Especially if that information would make the stock jump or crash.
In this case, the son of someone important had found out early that Genvia Labs would be acquired by a major pharma company. That kind of news usually causes the price to shoot up.
So he bought a large amount of shares, quietly. Through a proxy account.
But then the deal fell through at the last minute. No merger. No price spike.
And now, there's a trail. Emails. Purchase logs. Transaction history. All pointing to him having known something he wasn't supposed to act on.
"He used the family fund account too. Thought no one would notice."
"Why do these rich kids always have to play games?"
"He's already made us a target. If the FSMA digs into this…"
The chairman had personally told them to 'fix it.' But no one had a real solution.
They tried burying the trades in a pool of noise. Tried altering timestamps. Tried attributing the purchase to another team. Nothing stuck. Every route led to more questions.
They were stuck.
I cleared my throat.
All eyes turned.
"I might have an idea," I said.
No one said anything.
I stood up slowly, walked over.
"What if we leak a rumor?"
They just stared.
"A fake rumor," I continued. "That a rival investment firm was also eyeing Genvia Labs before the merger talks."
The gum-chewer blinked. "So?"
"So," I said, "it turns the illegal trade into a 'speculative' one. Makes it look like he bought the shares based on outside chatter. Not insider info."
Silence.
The team lead narrowed his eyes. "You want to retroactively create noise."
"Yes. Use burner accounts. Start the rumor on low-tier financial forums. Make it look like people were already talking about the merger days before the trade."
One of the senior analysts tapped his pen. "And if the FSMA sees the forums, it muddies the waters."
"Exactly. It won't prove him innocent," I said. "But it gives doubt. And that's enough to stall them. Or at least take the heat off us."
The room was quiet again.
Then the team lead spoke. "Proceed."
That was all.
He didn't praise me. Didn't smile. Just gave the order.
And somehow, that was more satisfying.
I went back to my desk.
This time, no one mocked me.
[FSMA is Belgium's financial watchdog. They monitor markets and catch illegal stuff like insider trading.]