Escalation

The next morning, the storm kept building. Every financial news channel ran back-to-back coverage of Blackthorn's unraveling. Analysts debated the company's future live on air, speculating if this was the beginning of the end for one of the most powerful private holdings in the world.

Ethan watched from his office, coffee in hand, a quiet smirk playing on his lips.

Across the room, Lisa's fingers flew across her keyboard, eyes scanning through a flood of insider chatter. "Pierce is scheduled to address the board at 3 p.m.," she said, pushing her glasses up. "If he can't spin this, they'll demand a full internal investigation."

Ryan snorted. "Internal investigation? That's just corporate-speak for 'find someone to crucify and hope the fire doesn't spread.'"

Ethan gave a slow nod. "Exactly. But if we make Pierce look weak enough, they won't settle for a scapegoat—they'll go for the king himself."

The next strike was already lined up.

Selena, working through her web of media connections, secured an exclusive deep-dive with one of the most respected investigative journalists in the game. This wasn't some tabloid hit piece. This was a scalpel aimed at Blackthorn's heart.

The article laid everything bare—the offshore accounts, the paper trails leading to unregulated human trials, the suppressed internal reports warning of ethical violations. But the real dagger was the direct link to Pierce himself—his personal enrichment sitting at the center of the entire scandal.

Selena forwarded the published article to Ethan with a single message:

"We didn't just accuse them. We gave the world the receipts."

The internet detonated.

Blackthorn Holdings trended worldwide within the hour. Financial forums, activist groups, and even mainstream celebrities joined the pile-on. Blackthorn's PR department scrambled out a bland, panicked statement—generic denials, corporate-sanitized language—but the world wasn't buying it.

Priya leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "They're not in damage control anymore. They're in freefall."

By late afternoon, Blackthorn's boardroom was a war zone.

Alexander Pierce sat at the head of the polished oak table, his expensive suit rumpled, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. Across from him, his fellow board members fired accusations like bullets.

"You told us this was under control, Alexander!" one snarled. "Now the media's ripping us apart and the investors are panicking."

"We've lost over $600 million in market value in a day," another added. "If you don't have answers, the shareholders will demand your head."

Pierce slammed his fist down so hard the crystal water glasses rattled. "This is a coordinated attack! Someone's engineering this—leaking our data, feeding the press! We need to strike back."

One of the older board members, calm and calculating, leaned back with a thin smile. "Then find out who. But until you do, you look like a liability. And this company doesn't carry liabilities."

For the first time in years, Pierce felt it—fear.

They weren't rallying around him. They were preparing the knife.

Across the city, Ethan refreshed his news feed.

'Blackthorn CEO Alexander Pierce Under Fire Amid Escalating Scandal'

The headline glowed on his screen.

He leaned back, fingers steepled, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Checkmate."