Chapter 13 - The Trojan Horse
The next seventy-two hours were a breathless, brutal bloodbath. Victoria wasn't bluffing about her resources. She launched a massive, coordinated media smear campaign, planting fabricated stories in financial journals claiming Sterling Global was built on fraudulent accounting. Our stock plummeted another nine percent.
But David and I had not spent our lives playing defense. We moved into the penthouse war room, operating on espresso and sheer, unadulterated adrenaline.
“She’s bleeding us out through the supply chain,” David said, his eyes scanning three different monitors displaying our logistics networks. “Victoria’s conglomerate is buying up the raw materials for our turbine manufacturing. She’s trying to artificially inflate our operational costs to force a margin call on our remaining debt. If we default, the bank hands her the controlling shares.”
“She’s moving too fast,” I muttered, tracing the digital flow of the proxy purchases on my tablet. “She’s anticipating our defensive maneuvers before we even execute them. She knew exactly which supply chain contracts were up for renewal this week.”
I stopped, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. I looked up at David, the air in the room turning to ice.
“She has a mole,” I breathed. “She has someone on our executive board. That’s how the black orchid got past security. That’s how she knows our contract schedules.”
David’s expression darkened into absolute fury. “I’ll order a full forensic sweep of every executive’s encrypted communications. Nobody leaves the building.”
“No,” I said, a dark, brilliant strategy forming in my mind. “If we sweep them, the rat scurries into the walls. We don't want to scare them. We want to use them.”
I sat down at my terminal and began drafting a highly classified, completely fabricated internal memo. The memo detailed a desperate, last-ditch strategy: Sterling Global was secretly preparing to liquidate our most profitable European wind farms at a massive loss to generate the cash needed to fight off the hostile takeover. It was the exact kind of bleeding-edge vulnerability Victoria would salivate over.
But I didn't send the memo to the entire board. I used a digital watermark system I had designed years ago. I created six slightly different versions of the document, altering specific, microscopic financial figures in each one, and sent a unique version to each of my top six executives.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my chair and looking at David. “We wait for Victoria to strike. The numbers she uses will tell us exactly whose throat to cut.”
We didn't have to wait long. Less than twelve hours later, Victoria’s proxy firm initiated a massive short-sell attack on our European assets, citing the exact, highly specific financial figures from one of the memos.
I looked at the data, a cold, predatory smile touching my lips.
The numbers matched the memo sent to Richard Sterling.
David’s own uncle. The man who had mentored him in law, the man we had trusted with a seat on our advisory board. Richard had resented my rapid ascent to power, believing a woman who married into wealth had no right to run a multi-billion-dollar empire. Victoria had exploited his bruised ego and bought him outright.
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David looked at the screen, his face hardening into a mask of pure, uncompromising stone. The betrayal cut deep, but David did not flinch. He looked at me, his eyes burning with absolute loyalty.
“He’s dead to me,” David stated, his voice devoid of any hesitation. “Let’s string him up.”
