Chapter 158
“Bring him in,” Jocelyn said.
She hung up and immediately copied the file to three separate locations — the cloud, a USB drive, and an encrypted email to Gaston.
She leaned back in her chair. A weight she hadn’t fully registered until now lifted slowly from her chest, replaced by something colder and more purposeful.
A sound from outside drew her to the window.
A crowd had gathered on the street below. They carried signs: Justice for Music. Boycott Wolfe. Their chanting rose in waves against the glass.
𝗪𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀.𝗰𝗼𝗺
Aspen had bused them in.
Jocelyn watched them for a long moment.
“Scream all you want,” she murmured. “The show is over.”
The trading floor of Collins Corp was a cathedral of capitalism. Screens covered every wall, flashing numbers in red and green, and the hum of voices rose in a low, constant roar.
Gaston stood on the balcony overlooking the floor, surveying it like a general assessing a battlefield.
“Schneider Corp is trading at $45,” he said. “Too high.”
Vance stood beside him, holding a tablet. “Sir, dumping this much stock will trigger an SEC halt. It’s aggressive.”
“Let it halt,” Gaston ordered. “I want panic. I want Robert Schneider to feel his heart stop.”
Vance nodded to the head trader. “Execute Order 66,” he said, though the joke landed on dead air.
The traders began to type. Sell orders flooded the market. Massive blocks of Schneider stock hit the exchange all at once.
The price on the big screen flickered.
$45.00… $42.50… $38.00.
It was a freefall.
Robert Schneider was eating a grapefruit in his sunroom when his phone erupted with alerts. Ping. Ping. Ping.
He picked it up. His face went gray.
“What is happening?” he screamed, dialing his broker.
“Someone is shorting us into oblivion!” the broker yelled over the line. “It’s a hostile attack. Volume is off the charts!”
“Who has that kind of capital?” Robert demanded.
“Only a few funds. Collins Capital is the biggest mover.”
Robert dropped his coffee cup. It shattered on the tile floor, brown liquid spreading like a stain across the grout.
“Collins?” he whispered. “Why?”
Then it hit him. Jocelyn’s husband.
Back at the hotel, the protestors were growing louder.
Jocelyn watched the news on the lobby television. Schneider Corp Stocks Crash Amidst Rumors of Fraud.
She frowned. Fraud?
Her phone buzzed. A text from Gaston.
Distraction provided. Go to the police.
She allowed herself a small, sad smile. He was fighting for her — in his own brutal, expensive way.
She put on her sunglasses and slipped out the side door to meet Detective Miller at the precinct.
The protestors spotted her immediately.
“There she is!” a woman screamed.
“Thief!”
Something flew through the air.
Splat.
An egg struck Jocelyn’s shoulder and broke open, the yellow yolk running down the sleeve of her black blazer. The nauseating smell of sulfur filled her nostrils.
She did not stop. She did not wipe it off. She got into the waiting car.
“Drive,” she told the driver.
.