The First Strike

The air in the office was thick the next morning—not just with tension, but with the weight of impending war.

Ryan, Selena, Lisa, and Priya sat in their usual spots around the table, but the usual jokes and morning chatter were gone. Ethan placed his phone face-up in the center of the table, the anonymous message still glowing on the screen like a silent warning.

"They're watching," Ethan said quietly. "Which means they're already setting up their next move."

Ryan slid a thick folder across the table, his expression grim. "We dug deeper into Blackthorn last night. They're not just playing corporate chess anymore. They're heavily invested in some very dark corners—underground biotech trials, off-grid AI development, even black-budget military programs. If we expose just one layer of that, their entire image could shatter."

Lisa adjusted her glasses, skepticism etched across her face. "There's a problem. Blackthorn doesn't just own companies—they own the narrative. Most major news outlets either owe them favors or fear them. Even if we leak the truth, they'll smother it before it sees daylight."

Selena leaned back, her smile almost feral. "Unless we give them a distraction so loud, they can't cover all the fires at once."

Ethan raised a brow. "Go on."

"We don't just expose them. We weaponize their own fractures. Ryan found evidence of a split inside their board. One side wants to push global expansion at any cost. The other wants to stay in the shadows, controlling quietly from behind the curtain. We make that fracture public—force their own leadership to turn on each other."

Ryan tapped the folder. "If we hit the right nerve, they'll be too busy fighting each other to come after us."

Ethan's eyes sharpened. "Then we stop waiting. We strike first."

That evening, Ethan sat in the shadows of his car, parked across from a luxury hotel downtown. The soft hum of the city vibrated around him, but his attention was locked on the entrance.

Ryan had arranged this meeting quietly—no paper trail, no emails, just a message through an old contact. The man they were meeting wasn't just anyone—he was a ghost, a former Blackthorn executive who'd been pushed out when the company's more brutal faction seized control.

A lone figure in a dark coat crossed the sidewalk, moving with the paranoia of someone who knew too much. Ethan unlocked the door, and the man slid into the passenger seat without a word.

"You have five minutes," the man said, voice tight.

Ethan wasted none of them. "What's holding Blackthorn together? What's the one piece that, if removed, brings the whole thing down?"

The man hesitated, fingers twitching, then exhaled sharply. "Alexander Pierce. Chairman. He's the glue. Not just legally—psychologically. He's the one who keeps the sharks from eating each other."

Ethan's brow furrowed. "And if Pierce falls?"

"Then the whole board fractures into open war. Blackthorn won't be able to focus on you or anyone else if they're too busy destroying each other."

Ethan's voice lowered. "How do we take him out of play?"

The man pulled a USB drive from his pocket, placing it gently in Ethan's hand like it was made of glass and explosives. "This has everything—his personal deals, offshore accounts, dirt on his private life, and even records of internal betrayals. You use this right, and Pierce won't just lose the board—he'll lose his entire world."

Ethan held the drive tightly. "And what happens when Blackthorn figures out we're behind it?"

The man's eyes darkened. "Then you become the next body on their list."

Ethan's grip didn't loosen. "Let them come."

The man stepped out into the night, vanishing into the same shadows he came from. Ethan leaned back in his seat, the drive burning in his palm like a loaded gun.

This was it. The first strike.

And this time, he wasn't playing to survive.

He was playing to win.