William Croft stood in his office at the top of Croft Tower. The view was commanding, but the numbers on his tablet were alarming.
Since the “Storm Birth,” the media narrative had been chaotic. But the market didn’t care about babies; it cared about stability. And Croft stock was fluctuating wildly.
“This isn’t panic selling,” William murmured, tracing the lines on the graph.
He highlighted a series of transactions. Small buys. Thousands of shares purchased by shell companies with vague names like ‘Blue Ocean’ and ‘Vanguard Holdings.’ They were buying just under the threshold that would trigger a regulatory disclosure.
“Someone is accumulating,” William realized.
He thought of Seraphina, but she was in jail. He thought of Dominic, but Dominic was emotional, impulsive. This was surgical. This was cold.
This was Arthur Sterling.
William picked up the phone to call his CFO. “Freeze all discretionary spending. And get legal on the line. I want to know who owns ‘Blue Ocean’ by lunch. We’re being raided.”