Chapter 2 - The First Ripple
The silence that followed my message wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, vibrating with the sudden unease my lack of tears had caused. Brendan stopped chewing his steak. His knife hovered an inch above the porcelain plate.
"What is that look supposed to mean?" Brendan sneered, trying to recover his swagger. "Are you practicing your villain glare for when you beg me for grocery money next week? Face facts, Cassidy. You’re broke, you’re homeless in spirit, and you’re nothing."
"Brendan," Diane sighed, picking up her wine glass again with steady, manicured fingers. "Just give her twenty dollars for a taxi so she leaves already. She’s ruining the ambiance of the dining room. The servants will have to scrub that rug twice."
I didn't blink. I didn't reach for a napkin. I simply sat straight in the metal chair, letting the water drip onto the floor. "Ten minutes," I said quietly, my voice carrying an unnatural steadiness that cut through the room.
"Ten minutes for what?" Jessica scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What are you going to do? Call the landlord of your roach-infested apartment?"
Before anyone could reply, my phone buzzed against the polished mahogany table. The screen lit up with an encrypted notification: Acknowledged. Executing across all regional ledgers.
At that exact moment, miles away in the gleaming glass skyscraper of Apex Global downtown, the master server banks hummed into high gear.
Arthur Vance—Executive Vice President of Legal and my most trusted corporate strategist—sat at his desk on the eighty-sixth floor. His phone had rung with a priority-one signal that overrode all automated security protocols. When he answered, he heard my voice calm and resolute across the line: “Execute Protocol 7.”
Arthur’s breath had hitched. "Protocol 7? Cassidy… are you certain? The Morrisons could lose everything."
"I’m certain," I had replied. "Effective immediately."
Now, back at the dining room table, Brendan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Then, Diane’s phone chimed on the sideboard. Then, Jessica’s phone pinged.
Brendan frowned, pulling his phone out. "Probably a spam alert from the bank about my credit limit increase," he muttered, swiping the screen.
He unlocked it. His eyes scanned the notification. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, pasty gray. His jaw slackened, and the steak knife slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the plate.
"Brendan? What is it?" Diane asked, annoyed by the sudden disruption. "Did the stock portfolio dip again? It’s just market fluctuation."
"No," Brendan whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the glowing rectangle in his palm. "No... that’s impossible. My accounts... my primary accounts are locked."
"Locked?" Jessica laughed nervously, pulling out her own phone. "Mine too. Wait, why does it say Account Frozen - Asset Seizure Order Pending? This has to be a glitch. Brendan, call your private banker right now!"
Diane’s phone buzzed again—a sharp, continuous series of notification alerts that sounded like a mechanical heartbeat. She picked it up, her reading glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She tapped the screen, her expression shifting from haughty disdain to sudden, visceral terror.
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"All of them," Diane breathed, her voice cracking. "The trust funds... the offshore holdings... the corporate dividend accounts... they’re all showing zero balance. Brendan, what did you do?"
Brendan looked up slowly from his phone, his gaze locking onto mine with a mixture of horror and incomprehension. The water was still dripping from my hair, but I no longer looked like a victim. I looked like an executioner.
