Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike
For thirty-nine years, people had mistaken my quiet demeanor and corporate success for softness. They assumed that because I built buildings and wore refined suits, I was a negotiator, a man who compromised. They forgot that I had built Sterling Developments from the rough-and-tumble trenches of commercial demolition, dealing with corrupt union bosses, mafia-backed contractors, and ruthless land sharks.
I didn't panic. I went to work.
By two in the morning, my corporate office on the top floor of the Sterling Tower was fully operational. David Sterling, Marcus, and a team of six elite forensic cyber-analysts sat around the long glass conference table, surrounded by glowing monitors and mountains of legal documents.
"Richard Vance—no relation to you—is a disgraced hedge fund manager who lost his license three years ago for insider trading," David explained, pulling up a dossier on the main screen. "He's been operating an illegal corporate extortion ring out of Miami, using women like Victoria to infiltrate high-net-worth targets."
"How did she get into my office?" I asked, leaning over the table, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows.
Marcus pulled up a security log. "Three weeks ago, when you were in London finalizing the consortium framework, Victoria used your master key card—the one you kept in your bedside safe—to enter the estate's private study. She used a high-speed encrypted flash drive to mirror your secondary server."
"Did she get the consortium pricing models?" I asked coldly.
"She got the drafts," the chief analyst replied. "She thinks she has the final valuation. But what she doesn't know is that you changed the asset allocation formulas last Thursday after the London summit."
A slow, lethal smile spread across my face.
"She has fake data," I realized.
"Worse," David grinned. "If Richard tries to short our stock based on those stolen drafts, he will be acting on completely inaccurate financial projections. If he places that short bet tomorrow morning when the markets open, he will lose every single dollar his investors gave him."
"No," I said, striking the table with my palm. "That's too easy. I don't just want him to lose money. I want him and Victoria in federal prison for the rest of their lives."
I turned to David. "Call the SEC and the FBI's Financial Crimes Division. Tell them we are setting up a sting. We are going to feed Richard exactly what he wants—a confirmed leak of the 'final' consortium numbers."
May you like
"And Victoria?" David asked.
"Victoria thinks she holds all the cards," I said, grabbing my coat off the back of my chair. "It's time I paid my ex-fiancée a personal visit."
