The Grand commander's Return; Ex-wife's fatal Mistake

Chapter 13: Baiting the Stock Bubble

High above the rain-slicked city, inside the soundproof executive suite of Griffin Tower, the atmosphere was dead silent. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows captured the flashing neon lights of the financial district below, but inside, the only light came from a wall of ultra-thin diagnostic monitors.

Declan sat back in a black leather armchair, a pair of dark audio monitors resting over his ears. His expression was completely calm, relaxed, and unreadable as he listened to Brody’s panicked voice streaming through the tapped dark-web channel.

Standing beside him, Fiona Griffin watched the active diagnostic stream on the primary terminal, her breath hitching slightly. On the main wall display, a high-density thermal map of Subnet Sector 4 expanded into view. Bright yellow, orange, and deep crimson hotspots flared across the digital schematic of Cromwell Capital's central server vault.

"Look at that spike," Fiona murmured, her voice carrying a blend of intense fascination and cold, professional admiration. "Cromwell Capital stock just surged another twelve percent after news of the state grid signing broke. Market analysts on financial news are calling Brody a tech prodigy."

Declan casually pulled off the audio headset, resting it on the polished desk. A faint, razor-sharp smile touched the corners of his lips.

"Brody isn't a prodigy, miss 4. He's a desperate gambler burning stolen money," Declan said quietly, his tone flat, even, and dangerous. "He just wired another ten million dollars to a dark-web syndicate for a visual shell. I monitored his wire transfer in real time. He’s running a display clone over a melting core, using liquid nitrogen over-clocking to force the boardroom diagnostic console into showing a green light."

Fiona’s eyes narrowed as she studied the live telemetry streams. She walked slowly toward his desk, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.

"Liquid nitrogen over-clocking," Fiona said, her sharp mind immediately analyzing the technical implications. "That will buy him a few hours at best. Once the main chillers hit maximum thermal load, the hardware degradation protocol you triggered will cook the physical silicon chips into slag."

"Exactly," Declan replied, leaning forward to tap a key on his terminal. "If I push the Phase 2 patch right now, the system will lock up instantly, the presentation upstairs will crash, and Brody will lose his initial funding."

Fiona leaned over the mahogany desk, facing Declan directly. The top button of her silk blouse was casually loosened, revealing her porcelain collarbone, and her subtle scent of sweet jasmine drifted into his personal space.

"What are you doing?" she asked with feigned innocence, leaning closer, her chest just inches away from Declan's face.

Declan inhaled, feeling the subtle shift in the room's temperature, and casually leaned backward into his chair. With a smooth, unflappable movement, he rotated the sleek secondary monitor toward her.

Fiona’s eyes fixed on the glowing ticker displays as green execution numbers climbed vertically across the state stock exchange. Declan was bypassing Viper-Tech's fake clone shell, sinking a silent diagnostic tap directly into Brody's live interface while executing automated routing protocols to pump artificial volume into Cromwell Capital stock.

"You're letting the stock bubble inflate,"

"Exposing Brody tonight only hurts his pride," Declan explained softly, his dark eyes meeting hers with absolute tactical clarity.

"A twenty-five-million-dollar dark-web fraud is a slap on the wrist for Old Chairman Cromwell. If the servers crash tonight, they file an insurance claim, blame a technical glitch, and survive to fight another day. I want Brody to succeed beyond his wildest dreams tonight. I want every bank in the state to throw money at him. I want Old Chairman Cromwell to double down, take out institutional loans, and leverage the entire family fortune on Sawyer-Cromwell stock."

Fiona let out a soft, admiring breath, a proud smirk touching her lips as she looked down at the man effortlessly pulling the strings of the city's financial elite.

"Miss Griffin," Declan suggested quietly, his voice dropping into a register that made her pulse quicken, "how would you like to be the next owner of Cromwell Holdings?"

Fiona’s eyes sparkled with cold, brilliant ambition, completing his thought smoothly. "For when Cromwell Capital implodes."

"For when they collapse," Declan agreed softly into the quiet room. "We buy their entire portfolio for pennies on the dollar."

Down in the subterranean VIP garage of Cromwell Tower, Brody Cromwell slammed the door of his matte-black sports car, holding a crystal glass of bourbon in his trembling hand. Sweat soaked through his tailored silk shirt, but his face carried an arrogant, maniacal grin.

"Unstoppable," Brody muttered, taking a heavy gulp of bourbon. "We signed it. Five hundred million dollars. The central grid is ours."

Nala Sawyer walked up behind him, her diamond heels clicking against the concrete floor. Her crimson dress flared under the garage lights, her expression radiating cold triumph.

"You handled that auditor perfectly, Brody," Nala said, sliding her arms around his shoulders, her dark eyes flashing with greedy ambition. "Dr. Radford looked like an absolute fool in front of your father. The entire board is calling you a visionary."

"She tried to ruin us, Nala," Brody snapped, his eyes darkening as he set the glass on the hood of his car. "She tried to claim some penniless ghost built Aegis-Core. But my system proved her wrong in front of the entire central banking committee."

"Declan is nothing now," Nala sneered softly, leaning her head against his chest. "A discarded loser living in the gutter while we rule the financial district. His name will be completely forgotten by morning."

Brody pulled out his phone, tapping into his private dark-web channel to verify the visual clone shell status.

VIPER: The clone shell is holding. The bankers are uploading the first $100M tranche into your reserve escrow right now.

BRODY: Keep the terminal locked on green. I will wire you another $5M at midnight.

Brody grinned, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Nala, order the public relations team to release the morning press blitz. I want our faces on every financial banner in the city."

"Already done," Nala purred, tapping her fingernails against his lapel. "Sawyer-Cromwell stock will open thirty percent higher tomorrow.”