Samantha Blythe stood in the center of the NXT Systems executive conference room, surrounded by chaos. Board members exchanged sharp whispers, and Gregory paced like a tiger in a cage. The fallout from the leak was worse than either had counted on—stock prices plummeting, media attention ratcheting up, and whispers of sabotage within the company spreading by the hour.
"Find the source," Gregory growled. "We cut it off, we survive."
Samantha stood with her arms crossed, unmoving. Her mind was whirring, though. Unlike Gregory, she wasn't acting out of fear—she calculated. And in the calculation, there had been an unknown variable added in: Max Rothchild.
She didn't believe in ghosts. But Max had always presented a threat, not because of strength—but waiting.
"Gregory," she whispered, "we have to think that Max is alive and behind it. The style is too clinical. The data too precise."
He snorted. "The man was humiliated. No work. No means."
"He had time," she replied calmly. "And nothing to lose. And that makes him dangerous."
Meanwhile, back at other locations within the city, Max and Nicholas worked around the clock, preparing for the coup de grâce. Ellie monitored gossip throughout the company, separating employee opinion and seeking soft targets—employees on the outside, people who could jump sides.
"Among one of the junior analysts will be gabbing," said Ellie. "A guy by the name of Caleb—finance floor. Sent a private Slack stating that he thinks Gregory cooked the books."
Max's eyes slit. "That's our door. Get him to talk."
Hours later, Ellie reached out to Caleb via a clandestine channel, delivering him with precision-chosen documents implicating Gregory in insider trading. Just enough to spark interest. Just enough to create fear.
The response was immediate: "Who are you?"
Ellie answered back: "The ones cleaning house."
That evening, Caleb emailed the board's audit committee directly. Anonymous. With the same documents attached.
The next day, the audit chair—Linda Foster—called for an emergency subcommittee meeting.
At Max's apartment, there was a tense but charged mood.
"Caleb delivered," Ellie announced, spinning her laptop around to show them. "The audit committee is pulling transaction records and launching an internal investigation."
Nicholas smiled. "The house of cards is shaking."
Max nodded, but his focus remained on target. "Now we make their hand."
He opened a new document with the title: "The Rothchild Memorandum".
A detailed letter—sent to the board—laying out the manipulation, the whistleblowing, the concealed evidence, and how Max Rothchild had been set up. Accompanying it, he sent audio recordings, emails, and legal affidavits from independent tech experts who had analyzed the data.
"When this falls," Max whispered, voice low and icy, "Gregory won't lose only his seat. He'll plead to vanish."
They would wait for the precise moment. One trigger. One spark.
The session was due in nine days. And the judgment was near.