Chapter 7 - The Wall Street Bloodbath
Z
At 8:30 AM the following morning, the high-stakes nerve center of Vanguard Tower was buzzing with electric, predatory tension. The executive floor had been converted into a command center, filled with top-tier financial traders, forensic accountants, and corporate lawyers working under non-disclosure agreements.
I sat in the central command chair, holding a mug of black tea, watching the massive wall-mounted monitors displaying the real-time ticker of the New York Stock Exchange. On my left, a crib was set up where Alexander and Eleanor slept soundly under the watchful eye of a private pediatric nurse and two heavily armed guards.
At 9:00 AM sharp, the opening bell rang.
Instantly, the market exploded into violent activity. Red numbers flooded the screens as massive sell orders for Vanguard stock began hit the exchange in rapid-fire succession.
“Ma’am! The Sterling Syndicate just dumped two million shares on the market!” my lead trader yelled over the noise of shouting analysts. “Vanguard stock is dropping fast! Down twelve percent in three minutes!”
“Let it drop,” I commanded coldly, taking a slow sip of my tea. “Do not buy a single share yet.”
“Down eighteen percent! Media outlets are reporting rumors of insolvency! Retail investors are panicking and selling off!”
My phone chimed on the console. It was a text from an unknown, encrypted number:
“Last chance to surrender, Victoria. Sell me your defense patents now, or Vanguard ceases to exist by lunchtime. - J.S.”
I didn't bother replying. I simply stared at the clock on the wall.
9:10 AM. Vanguard stock had plummeted by forty-two percent. The financial news networks were declaring it the worst single-day collapse of a tech giant in a decade. Down on the floor of the NYSE, Sterling traders were celebrating, popping champagne, believing Vanguard was completely defenseless.
9:14 AM.
“He’s all in,” my head forensic accountant announced, his eyes glued to the incoming order flow. “Julian Sterling just leveraged his firm’s entire cash reserve—over one hundred and fifty million dollars in short positions—to strike the final death blow. If the stock stays down for another thirty minutes, he gains voting control of the company.”
I set my teacup down on the saucer with a soft, deliberate clink.
I turned to my lead trader. “Execute Phase Alpha.”
“Phase Alpha executed!” the trader yelled, his fingers flying across his keyboard.
At 9:15 AM sharp, the two-hundred-million-dollar war chest from my father’s Zurich vault hit the floor of the New York Stock Exchange like a nuclear warhead.
In less than three seconds, every single short-order floating on the market was instantly swallowed up by Vanguard’s massive, automated buy-orders. The sudden, overwhelming demand for the stock created a catastrophic supply vacuum.
The red ticker on the screen instantly flipped to a blinding, roaring green.
“Stock is rebounding! Up twenty percent! Up forty percent! Up sixty percent!” the traders screamed, leaping out of their chairs in utter disbelief.
Because Julian Sterling had leveraged his firm’s entire capital to short the stock, the astronomical spike in Vanguard’s share price triggered an immediate, unstoppable chain-reaction margin call. The brokerages automatically began liquidating Sterling Global’s assets to cover their massive, exploding losses.
“It’s a short squeeze! A total slaughter!” my lead analyst cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Sterling Global is losing twenty million dollars every ten seconds! They can’t cover the margin!”
By 10:30 AM, Vanguard stock had hit an all-time high of $420 per share.
Sterling Global Holdings was completely wiped out. Decades of generational wealth, accumulated through corruption and corporate warfare, vanished into thin air in under ninety minutes.
Suddenly, the secondary wall monitor switched to a breaking news broadcast from outside the Sterling Global headquarters in Manhattan.
Federal agents from the FBI and the Securities and Exchange Commission were pouring out of black vans, breaching the front doors of the building with search warrants. The anchor’s voice echoed through my command center:
“Breaking news: Federal authorities have just launched a massive raid on Sterling Global Holdings following evidence of illegal market manipulation, grand-scale embezzlement, and murder charges linked to patriarch Julian Sterling...”
The entire room erupted into thunderous applause and cheers. My team was hugging each other, crying, celebrating the greatest financial comeback in Wall Street history.
I stood up slowly, stepping away from the cheering crowd, and walked over to the crib where my children were waking up. I picked up Eleanor, cradling her against my chest as Marcus walked up beside me.
“We won, ma’am,” Marcus said, a rare, genuine smile gracing his hardened face. “Julian Sterling is ruined. The FBI is taking his entire board into custody as we speak.”
I looked down at my baby girl, but my gut didn't feel at peace. Something was wrong. It had been too easy. Julian Sterling was a veteran shark; he wouldn't have put his entire empire on the line without a backup plan.
“Where is Damian?” I asked softly, my eyes narrowing. “If Julian was raided in Manhattan, where is Damian Thorne?”
Marcus’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket before he could answer. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and his smile instantly vanished. His face turned as pale as a sheet.
May you like
“Marcus… what is it?” I asked, my heart dropping.
“Ma’am…” Marcus stammered, his voice trembling. “The Bel-Air compound… the perimeter sensors were just breached. Someone activated the estate’s self-destruct override sequence from inside my father's old private study.”
