Chapter 8 - The Financial Guillotine
I raised my left hand, giving a subtle signal to Alistair.
Immediately, the massive projection screens above the stage—which were supposed to broadcast the Thorne Global merger presentation—flickered violently.
The blue corporate logos disappeared.
In their place appeared the real-time trading terminals of the New York Stock Exchange, the London Stock Exchange, and the Federal Treasury reserve board.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alistair’s voice boomed through the ballroom’s sound system, amplified with absolute legal clarity.
“Under the direct authorization of the Sterling Trust, all credit guarantees backing Thorne Global have been officially revoked as of 8:42 PM.”
Dominic’s face drained of every ounce of color.
“No… stop!” he screamed, struggling against the guard’s iron grip.
“You can't do that! The defense contracts require active liquidity!”
“Watch the screen, Dominic,” I said calmly, holding Chloe tightly against my chest.
Before the eyes of the entire room, the stock ticker for Thorne Global turned into a vertical bloodbath.
Red numbers cascaded down the digital board like an avalanche.
Eighty dollars per share.
Fifty dollars.
Twenty dollars.
Within two minutes, trading was halted three consecutive times due to automated volatility circuit breakers.
A prominent investment banker in the crowd checked his phone and gasped aloud.
“The Sterling Group just dumped forty million short positions!”
“Every bank in Switzerland is calling in their commercial loans!”
“Thorne Global is insolvent! They’re down ninety-four percent in five minutes!”
Dominic let out a guttural scream of pure despair.
“Cynthia! Please! My life’s work!”
“Your life’s work?” I laughed, the sound cold and sharp.
“You never had a life’s work, Dominic.”
“Every patent you registered was purchased with my trust allowance.”
“Every skyscraper with your name on it was built on Sterling real estate.”
“You were simply a pet that I fed under the table, and you mistook my generosity for your own greatness.”
Beatrice Thorne suddenly dropped to her knees beside her son, crawling forward toward my heels.
“Cynthia! My dear daughter-in-law!” Beatrice wept, clawing at the hem of my gown with trembling fingers.
“We are family! Think of Chloe! Chloe needs her father’s legacy!”
I stepped back with disgusted precision, letting the fabric slip out of her grasp.
May you like
“Chloe does not need the legacy of thieves and abusers, Beatrice.”
“And you are about to discover that bankruptcy is the least of your concerns tonight.”
