PART 7: THE MIDNIGHT ULTIMATUM
The trap sprung at midnight.
Julian Vance sat in his private study, sipping espresso as he prepared to leak Alejandro’s supposed financial distress to the financial press.
Suddenly, his personal smartphone chimed.
Then his secure tablet flashed red.
Then every television monitor in his penthouse blinked off, replaced by a single, high-definition audio file.
Camila’s voice echoed through the dark room, calm, measured, and chillingly polite.
"Good evening, Mr. Vance."
Vance bolted upright, spilling hot coffee onto his silk trousers.
"How the hell did you access this line?" he snarled at the empty room.
"You bought Mateo’s credentials for five hundred thousand dollars," Camila continued over the speakers. "A terrible investment. For the last forty minutes, our automated systems have mirrored your banking traffic."
A printer in the corner of Vance’s office suddenly whirred to life.
Sheets of paper began pouring out into a neat stack on the carpet.
"We now hold the transaction receipts for every bribe you paid to the port authorities between 2022 and 2025," Camila said softly.
Vance’s face drained of blood.
He scrambled toward the printer, snatching the top sheet.
It was a wire transfer receipt bearing his exact digital signature.
"Alejandro wanted to visit you in person," Camila added, her tone carrying a dangerous edge. "I told him that violence is terrible for our company’s ESG rating."
Vance swallowed hard, grasping the edge of his desk for support.
"What do you want?" he rasped.
"Tomorrow at 9:00 AM, you will divest entirely from the Atlantic shipping sector," she ordered. "You will sell your shares to our holding company for one dollar per share."
"That will cost me forty million dollars!" Vance shouted.
May you like
"The federal prosecutor's office opens at 8:30 AM," Camila replied smoothly. "Decide what you value more, Mr. Vance. Your portfolio, or your freedom."
The line went dead with a soft, final click.
