"Seen it?" Hendrik's voice pitched high. "Our stock is down twenty-three percent in after-hours trading. Tokyo opened an hour ago, and institutional investors are dumping shares. By the time New York opens, we'll have lost a third of our market cap."
"Which is precisely why we need a unified response before six AM," I replied, positioning myself behind the empty chair at the table's true head, directly across from Patterson. "The Pentagon expects a briefing at seven. Senator Williams's office has already called twice."
As I rested my hands on the chair back, sandalwood and dark spice rose from my jacket sleeve. His cologne transferred when I'd dressed him earlier. The scent anchored me, reminding me I wasn't facing these vultures alone. I carried his authority, his power, his absolute faith in my ability to protect what was ours. The separation sharpened something inside me, honed the predator he'd finally acknowledged into a blade ready for use.
"Where is Algerone?" Walsh demanded from his screen, the video connection making his jowls blur slightly as he moved. "The CEO should be present during a crisis of this magnitude."
"The CEO is currently recovering company property in Vancouver." I let that land. "While this board convenes emergency sessions, Algerone is handling the actual threat."
Patterson's eyes narrowed. "Without board authorization? Without consulting us on strategy. He simply disappeared, leaving us to manage the fallout."
"Are you suggesting," I asked quietly, "that Algerone should have convened a committee meeting while Shaw relocated the prototype to a secondary facility? Perhaps formed a working group? Commissioned a study?"
Morrison wiped sweat from his forehead. Unlike Patterson's calculated hostility, Morrison's panic rang genuine. His daughter had medical school loans, and his wife's boutique was bleeding money. The man teetered on financial collapse and lived in terror of losing his board position. "We're questioning his judgment. Running off on some vigilante mission while our stock price collapses isn't leadership. It's abandonment."
My phone buzzed against my chest. An internal message notification. Odd, given the hour and security protocols surrounding board meetings. I ignored it initially, focusing on Morrison's continued bluster.
"Our stock price reflects short-term speculation, not fundamental value." I circled the table, footsteps silent on marble. "Unless you believe Lucky Losers' worth depends solely on a single prototype rather than our comprehensive technological superiority and proven track record."
My phone buzzed again. I glanced at it discreetly.
Internal secure message. Priority: URGENT.
The sender showed as "BOARD_ADMIN" but something about the designation rang false. Our internal systems never used generic administrative accounts for urgent communications.
"The Pentagon is asking pointed questions," Brennan said from his screen, the video catching him mid-adjustment of his makeshift blazer. "Senator Williams called me personally demanding assurances about our security capabilities."
"Senator Williams, who receives substantial campaign contributions from GidTech's PAC?" I opened the message while maintaining eye contact with the screen. "How fascinating that he's so involved in our internal affairs."
Ice crystallized in my veins.
The message contained three photographs, all high-resolution, obviously captured by hidden cameras. The first showed Algerone pushing me against his bedroom wall, hand around my throat. The second captured me kneeling beside his bed, naked, awaiting his return. The third revealed me kneeling with my head in his lap, his fingers curled in my hair.
Below the images, a single line of text:"The board might find these... educational. - A Friend"
Every instinct screamed to react, to rage, to hunt whoever dared violate something sacred. They'd transformed worship into pornography, captured moments from when we'd finally stopped pretending, when I'd admitted I knelt because I wanted to and he'd accepted me anyway. Someone had watched us during those raw, honest hours and turned them into ammunition. The images burned behind my eyes, not with shame of exposure, but with fury of desecration.
Yet decades of discipline held my expression neutral. Not a muscle twitched. Not a breath changed rhythm. These corporate vultures would destroy me instantly if they sensed weakness, would use any hint of impropriety to tear down everything Algerone had built. I existed as his shield, his sword, his perfect instrument, and perfect instruments never broke under pressure.
But something else cut through the rage. The photos meant there was surveillance equipment in Algerone's penthouse, in his bedroom. Someone had access to the most secure location in the city and had planted devices without triggering a single alarm.
Shaw's infiltration ran deeper than a stolen prototype.
I slipped the phone back into my jacket, movements controlled through decades of practice. Inside, murder sang through my veins. Whoever sent this had signed their death warrant. But outside, I remained Maxime St. Germain: cold, competent, utterly professional.
"You seem distracted, Maxime." Patterson said confidently. "Pressing business?"
"Nothing that can't wait." I resumed my circuit of the table, but now each step carried righteous fury carefully leashed. "You want to discuss leadership and judgment? Let's discuss the true nature of the threat Lucky Losers faces. Because the theft of our prototype represents only the opening move in Shaw's strategy."
I pulled out my tablet and activated the holographic display, showing financial analyses Xavier had compiled. "Shaw has been shorting our stock for weeks. The theft wasn't about acquiring technology. The stolen hardware lies inert without proper activation codes. Shaw has acquired a very expensive piece of scrap metal. This was about triggering exactly this panic, this market volatility."
Morrison leaned forward, his panic shifting to professional interest. "You're saying he orchestrated the stock drop?"
"I'm saying he profits from it." I advanced to the next screen, displaying trading patterns. "Every point our stock drops, Shaw makes millions. And when our stock hits bottom, when the Pentagon questions our security, Shaw will make his move. A hostile takeover bid when we're weakest."
The silence stretched like a held breath. Color drained from faces around the table—and on the screens—as Shaw's strategy became clear.
"Corporate warfare," I explained. "Shaw destroys the competitor, acquires their technology at fire-sale prices, and eliminates every threat to his market dominance."
