Volume 1: Fallen from Grace
Summary: Jack is accused of financial fraud at a celebration banquet, leading to his downfall. Once celebrated and admired, he suddenly becomes a pariah, hunted by all.
Chapter 1: Wall Street Nightmare
"Jack! Jack! Wake up!"
The sharpness of Emily Carter's voice pierced through the vast trading floor like an ear-splitting alarm, violently pulling Jack Ryan out of an intense market battle. His temples throbbed as if his brain had been stuffed into an overloaded server, flooded with data streams that left him with unbearable pain.
It felt as though he had just broken free from an invisible web when he slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was an exaggeratedly enlarged face filled with fear. Emily, his sharp, capable, and perpetually perfectionist young assistant, had completely lost her usual poise. Her carefully drawn eyeliner was smeared from tears and sweat, her makeup ruined by sudden panic. The razor-sharp gaze she usually wielded now resembled the helpless stare of a lost lamb.
"Em, what's wrong?" Jack's voice was hoarse. He struggled to grasp his scattered thoughts, like trying to hold onto a fragile straw in the middle of a storm.
Emily's hands trembled violently, as if struck by electricity. She pointed toward the massive six-screen display ahead, her voice choked with sobs: "Jack… it's over… this time it's really over! Something happened… Bloomberg just released the news about you…" She broke down crying before finishing her sentence.
Jack took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. With effort, he turned his head toward the阵地 once commanded by him. The screens, which should have been rolling with stock prices, company earnings, and global financial updates, were now dominated by a glaring red banner: "Jack Ryan, CEO of Ryan Capital, Suspended for Alleged Insider Trading by Financial Regulators!"
"Insider trading?" Jack whispered in disbelief, as if he had heard a cruel joke from hell. Those four words hit him like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping.
Insider trading! For a Wall Street elite, it was a verdict harsher than capital punishment—a career-ending disgrace, a stain on his honor beyond redemption. Jack Ryan—thirty-five years old, founder and CEO of Ryan Capital—hailed as the "Wall Street Golden Boy," the "Mozart of Finance." He had built Ryan Capital into an industry leader with his intuitive grasp of numbers and his precise control of risk. How could he, why would he, ever stoop to such self-destructive, dirty dealings? He had climbed the ranks not through shady deals but through deep market insight, accurate judgment, sharp instincts, and relentless courage.
A nameless terror and fury surged through him like a hurricane. He tried desperately to suppress the chaos inside, to remain calm, but his fingers trembled uncontrollably, as if they too were rebelling against the brutal reality.
"This can't be real… someone framed me! Someone is behind this!" Jack growled, his voice low and ragged, shaking with shock and rage. He searched frantically through his tangled thoughts for a clue, but everything seemed shrouded in thick fog, impenetrable and hopeless.
"Jack… what do I do now? My job… my future…" Emily nearly broke into sobs again, gripping his arm like a drowning person clutching at a lifeline. Her eyes brimmed with fear and uncertainty. Everything she had—her career, her life—was tied to Ryan Capital. If Jack fell, she would fall with him.
Jack slowly rose to his feet, but his legs felt as heavy as lead. He could feel the entire trading floor fall silent. The usual noise vanished as if someone had pressed pause. Hundreds of eyes pierced into him like invisible blades, pinning him to the stake of shame for public judgment.
Among those gazes were shock, confusion, whispers, and even veiled delight and open contempt. Not long ago, he had stood atop the mountain of wealth and power, the figure others aspired to reach. Now, he was a wounded beast, surrounded by spectators awaiting his final reckoning.
He tried to force a smile, took a couple unsteady steps forward, and attempted to nod politely to some familiar colleagues, only to realize his expression was stiff and absurd, his facial muscles seemingly out of control. He felt like an actor under the spotlight who had just been told the script was wrong, while the audience waited eagerly to see him fail.
At that moment, several men in sharply tailored black suits pushed through the crowd. Their expressions were unreadable, their movements swift and precise, like trained hunting leopards zeroing in on their prey. The man in front stopped directly in front of Jack, flashed a silver badge clipped in a folder, and spoke clearly and decisively.
"Mr. Jack Ryan, we are from the FBI. We need your cooperation in an ongoing investigation." His tone was cold and mechanical, devoid of any emotion, as if he were merely delivering programmed instructions.
Jack's face drained of color in an instant. FBI? This wasn't just an internal inquiry anymore—it was a criminal charge! It meant prison time, the complete loss of everything he had built!
"Can I… can I call my lawyer?" Jack's voice cracked with desperation. This was his last defense, his final line. He needed legal help—someone professional enough to get him out of this mess and prove his innocence.
"Of course, Mr. Ryan. You have the right to remain silent and the right to legal counsel. But for now, we need you to come with us." The agent replied bluntly, his tone carrying undeniable authority. He had clearly anticipated Jack's request and was ready with a response.
Jack knew it was over. His career, his reputation, everything he had worked for—all of it was crumbling in an instant.
He cast one last glance at Emily. Her face was etched with fear, despair, and helplessness. He wanted to comfort her, tell her everything would be okay, promise he would clear his name—but his throat tightened, and no words came. Any assurance would have sounded hollow.
Slowly, he lifted his head and gazed one last time at the trading floor that had witnessed his countless triumphs. He looked at the towering skyscrapers symbolizing wealth and power, his heart burning with bitterness and fury. He swore silently—he would uncover the truth. He would make those who framed him pay dearly, forcing them to taste the same agony he now endured.
Handcuffed and escorted by FBI agents, Jack disappeared into the sea of people like a lone boat swallowed by the waves, vanishing without a trace.
Outside, torrential rain poured down like swords slicing through the cold steel jungle. Water streamed down the glass facades, blurring the view—and hope itself. The storm seemed to foreshadow Jack Ryan's future: dark, muddy, and utterly desolate. And yet, this Wall Street nightmare had only just begun.