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Chapter 852:
The director opened it. Inside were encrypted internal emails, wire transfer logs, and whistleblower testimonies proving unequivocally that his bank had been laundering billions for Eastern European cartels while simultaneously manipulating LIBOR rates. An attached memo noted that this exact dossier was currently sitting in the drafts folder of Love Media’s top investigative desk — one click from the SEC and the Department of Justice. The resulting scandal would mean ten billion dollars in federal fines, the immediate revocation of their US banking license, and federal prison for the board.
The director’s face turned the color of chalk. His hands shook as he picked up the pen Rhodes had placed beside the withdrawal agreement. His signature was barely legible. He practically sprinted out of the building.
Three down.
In eight hours, Crawford’s media guillotine had cleared the field entirely. Only one target remained: NovaTech.
At 6:00 PM, Crawford sat behind his desk reviewing the clearance report. He nodded in satisfaction, but Rhodes’s expression remained grim.
“Sir, we have a problem with the final target,” Rhodes said. “Arthur Pendleton is ignoring our back-channel pressure. He just gave a live interview on Bloomberg declaring NovaTech will acquire the Apex patents at any cost p>
ո𝗲𝗐 с𝘩𝗮𝗉𝗍𝘦𝗿ѕ 𝗲𝘷е𝗿𝘆 𝗐𝗲𝖾𝘬 o𝘯
Crawford’s jaw tightened. He stood and buttoned his jacket with sharp, deliberate movements. “Prepare the car. I’m going to speak to this Silicon Valley brat myself p>
Thirty minutes later, Crawford’s Rolls-Royce pulled up to the sleek glass-and-steel headquarters of NovaTech in Lower Manhattan. Crawford and Rhodes bypassed the front desk with sheer physical authority, swiped a cloned access card in the executive elevator, and rode up without a word.
Rhodes shoved open the heavy glass doors of the top-floor conference room without knocking.
Arthur Pendleton sat at the far end of a massive white table, in a casual t-shirt and expensive sneakers, practicing his putting stroke with a titanium golf club. He looked up as the doors banged open. A cocky grin spread across his face without a trace of alarm.
Crawford walked the full length of the room, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He rested his elbows on the table and fixed Arthur with the cold, flat stare of someone who had ended careers before breakfast.
“You are going to withdraw your bid tomorrow morning, Arthur,” Crawford said. Not a request.
Arthur let out a loud snort and tossed the golf club onto the table. It struck the wood with a sharp clatter. “No,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t think I will p>
Crawford’s eyes narrowed. He snapped his fingers. Rhodes slid a USB drive across the table. It came to rest in front of Arthur.
“That drive contains proof that three of your subsidiary startups have been fabricating user data,” Crawford said, his voice dropping to something quiet and lethal. “One button, and it goes to the SEC. NovaTech’s stock gets cut in half before the opening bell p>
Arthur didn’t glance at the drive. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, his eyes burning with the manic energy of someone who genuinely didn’t care about the rules. “You think I’m scared of a stock dip?” He laughed. “NovaTech is backed by a Middle Eastern sovereign wealth fund. I have fifty billion in liquid cash sitting in a sandbox. Your media tricks don’t work on me, Crawford p>
He pointed across the table. “The neural blocker patent is the final piece I need to dominate the biotech sector. I’m bringing five billion in cash to Sotheby’s tomorrow, and I am not backing down p>