Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Titan
At 6:30 AM on Friday morning, Dominic Pierce woke up in his penthouse duplex overlooking Central Park.
He was nursing a vicious hangover and an even more vicious hatred. He hadn't slept more than two hours. The humiliating memory of the waitress at Le Rêve speaking flawless Russian and reducing him to a laughingstock in front of Victor Volkov burned in his gut like battery acid.
"It doesn't matter," Dominic muttered to himself, stepping out of bed in his silk robe. "I'll destroy them all today."
He walked over to his espresso machine, grabbed his personal iPad, and logged into his private trading portal to check the deployment of his fifteen-million-dollar short attack against Volkov Capital.
He tapped the screen.
A bright, flashing red warning banner covered the display:
ACCOUNT STATUS: FROZEN BY FEDERAL ORDER. SEC INJUNCTION #884-B-NY.
Dominic dropped his coffee cup. It hit the marble floor, shattering into pieces, hot black coffee splashing across his bare feet.
"What?" he gasped, his hands shaking violently as he tapped the screen repeatedly. "No! No, no, no!"
His encrypted cell phone began ringing furiously. The caller ID showed his chief financial officer.
Dominic snatched up the phone. "What the hell is going on with the Cayman accounts?!"
"Dominic, we're ruined!" his CFO shrieked over the line, his voice thick with sheer terror. "The SEC just issued an emergency freeze on all our foreign holdings based on a compliance violation from our Singapore deal! Our primary lenders just panicked! Volkov Capital called in our eighty-million-dollar credit line!"
"What?!" Dominic screamed, grabbing his head. "How did the SEC get the Singapore files?! Those were locked in private servers!"
"Someone with high-level intelligence clearance pulled the regulatory cross-filings!" the CFO panicked. "The board is holding an emergency meeting right now! They're voting to remove you as CEO!"
Before Dominic could process the nightmare unfolding around him, his front doorbell rang.
Dominic ran to the front entrance of his penthouse, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He pulled open the heavy oak door.
Standing in the carpeted hallway were three men in tailored grey suits holding federal badges, accompanied by a news crew from Wall Street Business News.
And standing directly between the federal agents was Cassidy Brooks.
She was wearing an exquisite, custom-tailored navy blue suit, her hair styled in an elegant wave, radiating an aura of absolute corporate dominance.
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Dominic’s breath hitched in his throat. He stumbled back a step. "You..."
"Good morning, Mr. Pierce," Cassidy said cleanly, her voice smooth, calm, and effortlessly commanding. "Or should I say, former CEO Pierce?"
