I HOARDED TRILLIONS BEFORE THE GREAT FREEZE

Chapter 4: Counter-Hack And Capital Freeze

The screens of my logistics terminal flashed a brilliant, blinding crimson as lines of raw code cascaded down the monitors. The automated intrusion detection system hummed aggressively, warning of a forced breach against the primary corporate firewall.

I didn't panic. In the second half of the post-apocalyptic timeline, surviving wasn't just about wielding weapons; it was about outsmarting cyber syndicates, tech scavengers, and elite scavengers who tried to crack pre-war mainframes for hidden caches. My fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, executing a series of rapid commands with cold, practiced precision.

The attacker thought they were clever, routing their traffic through three layers of residential proxy servers. But to someone who had lived through the collapse and studied every flaw in old-world digital infrastructure, their digital footprint was neon glowing in the dark.

I watched the trace ping bounce across the local network map. The signal bypassed commercial routing hubs, sliced through city fiber links, and locked down hard onto a single residential IP address located right in the heart of the downtown arts district.

The exact apartment where Garrett lived rent-free off my past generosity.

A cruel, humorless smirk pulled at the corners of my mouth. The amateur hacker thought he was picking a lock, but he had just walked right into a bear trap. Garrett didn't know the first thing about cybersecurity; he must have hired some two-bit dark web script kiddie to break into my accounts and reverse the capital freeze. But instead of letting them bounce off my firewall, I flipped the script.

I deployed a high-level reverse-injection payload, wrapping it in a benign data packet and routing it straight back down their open tunnel.

The script hit Garrett's laptop like a digital lightning bolt. Within seconds, my terminal mirrored their screen interface. I watched through the remote desktop feed as Garrett's cheap gaming laptop froze, the screen flashing a stark warning code before locking him out entirely. Simultaneously, my banking protocols flagged the unauthorized intrusion attempt, automatically triggering an emergency federal corporate espionage lock.

With a few decisive keystrokes, I executed the counter-strike. I froze all of Garrett's personal bank accounts, seized his shadow credit lines, and flagged his personal identification numbers under a federal corporate fraud investigation.

His illegal financial lifeline snapped instantly.

I leaned back in my leather office chair, listening to the soft, rhythmic hum of the server racks lining the warehouse wall. The parasite had tried to bite the hand that fed him for years, and now he was completely financially castrated. Without access to his credit cards, his hidden gambling stashes, or his lines of dirty cash, Garrett was going to drown in the mountain of debt he owed to local loan sharks within forty-eight hours.

Let him squirm. Let him scream. The sixty-day countdown to the Great Freeze had only just begun, and I was systematically stripping away every safety net my enemies relied on.

I stood up, grabbing my heavy-duty logistics tablet from the desk, preparing to map out the first wave of physical supply acquisitions for dawn. The ten million dollar liquidation loan was burning a hole in my accounts, and thousands of tons of high-grade food, medical equipment, heavy fuel, and cold-weather gear were waiting to be swallowed whole into my infinite dimensional vault.

Before I could walk out toward the loading bay to check the transport fleet, my cell phone buzzed violently against the metal table.

The screen flashed with the caller ID of Marcus Vance, my chief logistics manager and one of the few loyal men I intended to keep close as the apocalypse approached. I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear, expecting a routine inventory update.

"Sir! We have an emergency," Marcus's voice barked through the speaker, tight, frantic, and laced with disbelief. "Someone just tried to execute an emergency buyout of our primary wholesale fuel reserve contracts using forged corporate credentials!"

My eyes narrowed into lethal slits. The cold rage that had fueled my awakening flared back to life, burning hotter and sharper than before.

"Forged credentials?" I echoed, my voice dropping into a dangerous, glacial hum. "Explain, Marcus."

"About twenty minutes ago, a high-priority digital override request hit the regional energy exchange," Marcus reported rapidly, his breathing heavy. "The buyer used a duplicated corporate stamp and an executive authorization token matching your primary registry. They tried to snap up thirty thousand gallons of high-grade industrial diesel and heating oil stored in the North Harbor terminal, completely bypassing our standard procurement chain."

My mind raced, connecting the digital dots instantly. Garrett wasn't just a clumsy hacker attempting a pathetic bank intrusion on his own. Someone else was backing him, a professional syndicate or a desperate corporate rival trying to siphon my assets before the market crash.

"Did the transaction go through?" I asked, my grip tightening around the phone until my knuckles turned white.

"No, sir! That's the thing," Marcus replied, sounding bewildered. "Our updated security protocols, the ones you implemented this morning, flagged the authorization token as a mismatched legacy key. The system locked the account and rejected the buyout instantly. But whoever tried to pull it off had deep inside knowledge of our supply channels. They knew exactly which terminal held our bulk fuel reserves."

A dark, chilling realization settled over me. Clara wasn't just sitting back posting angry rants on social media, and Garrett wasn't just crying over frozen bank apps. They had partnered with someone else, someone with corporate connections and illicit underworld ties, to steal my inventory right out from under me.

They wanted to cripple my logistics empire before I could even begin my hoarding spree.

"Listen to me very carefully, Marcus," I said, every word dripping with absolute authority. "Lock down every single fuel terminal, grain silo, and medical depot under our corporate umbrella. Double the physical security guards at all three warehouse districts. Give shoot-on-sight authorization for anyone trying to access our storage yards without my direct biometric signature."

"Consider it done, Mr. Vance," Marcus answered, his tone instantly hardening to match mine. "Nobody touches our inventory."

"Good," I muttered. "Because whoever tried to steal my fuel is going to regret the day they were born. I'm heading to the North Harbor terminal right now. Prepare the security logs."

I disconnected the call, tossed my tablet into the passenger seat of my SUV, and slammed the vehicle into gear. The engine roared, echoing through the empty warehouse as I sped out into the night. Clara, Garrett, and whoever was pulling their strings had just declared war. They thought they could steal my supplies and ruin my life. They had no idea they were walking straight into the jaws of a monster who had already lived through the end of the world.