Act - 73: Echoes on the Wire

The trading floor at Bramley-Keene Capital was a cauldron of heat and static. The morning sun bounced off glass skyscrapers, but inside the fortress of finance, the mood was anything but golden.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on rows of desks stacked with triple-monitor setups. The tick-tick-tick of keystrokes filled the space like gunfire. Coffee cups sat untouched, phones rang unanswered, and the only thing louder than the panic was the silence of disbelief.

"S&P's stalling," Irene snapped, her voice sharp as the tail end of a whip. She stood at the front of the main pit, eyes locked on the sea of red crawling across the monitors. "GreenCell's moving again. Another short squeeze. They're baiting us."

Charles Whitmore, Managing Director and self-proclaimed war general of Bramley-Keene's trading division, leaned over the edge of his mahogany desk. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, veins popping beneath the stress of the last hour. His tie hung loose like a noose ready to tighten.

"No one baits us," he growled. "Adjust positions. Now. Shift the weight into the buffer pool. We ride it out."

Noah Mendez, the youngest analyst on the team, clacked away at his keyboard, sweat dotting his brow. "We're already exposed. They timed it again, Charles. Same maneuver as yesterday. Sell walls came up right as we went long. The volume spike was unnatural."

Whitmore's eyes narrowed. "You saying we're being targeted?"

Noah hesitated. "I'm saying it's too precise to be coincidence."

On the other side of Manhattan, in a private suite overlooking Lexington, the battlefield had a different tone.

The hum of powerful GPUs, the clatter of mechanical keyboards, and the soft murmur of strategy filled the air. Dio stood in the center, arms folded, eyes focused. Six screens glowed around him, forming a command deck fit for a war room.

Kai, calm and focused, had his eyes on the social sentiment feeds. His posture was still, but his mind moved like lightning.

"They've overextended on GreenCell," he said. "The algo's sluggish. Volume spike coming. They'll chase it."

Dio's jaw tightened. "We're not just playing catch-up anymore. Time to send a message. Taylor, double our position—break the cap. Marcus, prep the secondary limit and adjust the leverage. David, I want correlation data between TechGen and LuxAir. If they flinch, we punch harder."

Evelyn glanced over, concern flickering in her usually composed expression. "That's a big risk, Dio. We're pushing past safe margins."

"And big risk brings bigger paydays," he said evenly, eyes never leaving the screen. "We didn't come here to play safe."

The team sprang into action.

Back at Bramley-Keene, chaos unfurled like smoke.

"Volume's surging again," Irene barked, knuckles white on her tablet. "GreenCell just broke resistance. It's a full lift. We're caught."

"Pull the plug!" Whitmore's voice cracked like a gunshot. "GET OUT BEFORE THE RIP!"

But the rip had already come.

GreenCell exploded past its ceiling. A tidal wave of buy orders pushed the price into the stratosphere. Bramley-Keene's carefully placed stop-losses tripped one by one, cascading through their portfolio like a digital avalanche. Screens blinked red. Panic took hold.

Charles Whitmore let out a guttural yell, grabbed a monitor, and flung it across the room. The shatter echoed like thunder.

"You're all useless!" he roared. "I want security to escort Team Beta out—now! Bring in new analysts. This desk is poisoned."

Analysts and junior traders shrank back from their desks. Noah stood frozen, pale as ash.

"They're not trading like a firm," Irene whispered to herself. "They're moving like a swarm. A single will. Anticipating us."

Whitmore stalked across the floor. "Find out who they are. I want IP traces. I want satellite pings if you have to. Someone's puppeteering this." He pointed at the plummeting charts. "And they just made me their goddamn puppet."

Meanwhile, in Dio's suite, the energy remained razor sharp.

"Exit filled," Evelyn reported. "Profit: 5.3 million kroner."

"Pull capital from TechGen and rotate into BioQuant," Kai said. "Their earnings call is tonight. We'll bait them into a pre-market swing."

Marcus leaned back in his chair, watching the ticker. "Did we just dismantle a top-five fund in under an hour?"

"Not dismantle," Dio corrected. "Warned."

He turned back to the screens, pulling up a new asset. "We'll shake the foundation next. Let them go defensive. Let them hide. But we'll be the shadow in every trade."

The suite fell quiet, but it wasn't calm. It was a charged silence, the breath before another strike.

Kai glanced at Dio. "They're not going to take this lying down."

"Good," Dio said, his voice like ice. "Neither will we."

In a darkened conference room at Bramley-Keene, Whitmore sat with a whiskey in one hand, and a trembling report in the other. The numbers were damning. Eight-figure losses. Melted positions. Reputation damage.

"Who the hell is this kid?" he whispered.

The lights buzzed above him.

He wasn't sure if it was the drink or paranoia, but for the first time in his career, Charles Whitmore felt hunted.

The phantom had a name. And Wall Street was beginning to learn it.

Running Total Profits — Nova Enterprise (New York Ops):

Initial Capital: 2,000,000 NOK

Day 1 Gains: +3.2M NOK

Day 2 Gains: +2.0M NOK

Day 3 Gains (GreenCell Operation): +5.3M NOK

Total Accumulated Profits: 12.5 million kroner

Dio's Current Stats & Influence

Dio Stat's Info:

Lvl: 16

Skill Count: 3 (Key Selling Point Analyze) | (Analyze) | (Global Monitoring System)

Strength: 35

Agility: 24

Intelligence: 31

Endurance: 21

Charm: 25

Dio's Influence, Power & Riches:

Money: 12.5 Million Kroner

Associates: 11

Assets: 0

Digital Asset: 250 BTC

Goons: 10

Cars: 1

Guards: 2

Employers: 53

Companies: 1