The call lasted less than two minutes.It didn't need to be longer.
The man on the other end was a specialist. Some called him a corporate saboteur, others a "strategic disruption consultant." I preferred the simpler term: weapon. He didn't work for free, but he didn't just take money. He took a piece of the outcome.
And in this case, the outcome would be spectacular.
Valen Dynamics' annual shareholder meeting was in three days. Normally, these events were bland pageantry — a CEO talking in circles, an investor Q&A where questions were planted, and a buffet that cost more than a middle manager's annual salary. But in the right hands, a shareholder meeting could be a bomb.
My hands were the right hands.
The next morning, Lena walked into my office without knocking. She dropped a thick folder on my desk. "Background on Valen's top ten shareholders," she said. "You're planning something."
"Always."
She crossed her arms. "If this is about what I think it is, you're walking into a legal minefield."
I flipped through the file. "You think too small, Lena. Mines are only dangerous if you step on them. If you can direct someone else onto them…" I let the thought trail off.
Her lips tightened. "You're still on thin ice. We don't have the resources for a full-scale assault yet."
"We don't need a full-scale assault," I said. "We need panic. Just enough to make them trip over their own feet."
She didn't like it, but she didn't walk away either. That was why I trusted her.
By Thursday morning, the groundwork was in place. My "consultant" had reached out to a handful of minority shareholders — people with enough stock to get in the room but not enough to influence decisions. These were the hungry ones, the ones who thought they were smarter than the market and just needed an "inside tip" to cash out at the perfect time.
The tip they were fed was elegant in its simplicity:Valen Dynamics was about to lose a government contract worth half a billion dollars due to "compliance issues."
No proof, no details, just enough smoke to make them wonder if there was fire.
From there, whispers took on a life of their own.
The shareholder meeting was held in a downtown hotel ballroom with enough chandeliers to make Versailles blush. I arrived early, not as myself — not as Adrian Kane — but as a proxy holder for one of Hargrave Systems' smaller shell companies. My name badge read Michael Grant, and my suit was tailored to look expensive but not memorable.
I scanned the room. About two hundred people milled about — retirees clutching neatly organized binders, institutional reps in navy suits, and a few corporate lifers who treated these meetings like family reunions. At the front, a long stage with a podium and twelve chairs sat under an enormous projection screen displaying Valen's logo.
I wasn't here to speak. I was here to listen, and to push.
When the meeting started, Valen's CEO, a broad-shouldered man named Gerald Pike, took the stage. He had the confident swagger of someone who'd never been caught lying — which was not the same as someone who'd never lied.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I'm proud to say this has been another strong year for Valen Dynamics. Our revenue has grown twelve percent year-over-year, and our market share in autonomous logistics has never been stronger."
He clicked to the first slide — a cascade of green bars and upward arrows. It was textbook corporate theater.
When the Q&A segment opened, the first few questions were softballs. "What are our plans for expanding into Southeast Asia?" "How will the recent tech acquisitions affect long-term R&D?" Gerald answered smoothly, peppering his replies with optimism and carefully sanitized projections.
Then a man near the back — one of my plants — stood. He was in his sixties, wearing a faded blazer, the kind of shareholder who looked harmless until he opened his mouth.
"Mr. Pike," he said loudly enough for the microphones to pick up, "can you comment on the status of the government logistics contract renewal? There's been chatter that compliance concerns might affect the outcome."
The room shifted. Heads turned. Gerald's smile faltered — just slightly — before he recovered.
"I'm not aware of any issues," he said. "Valen Dynamics has always maintained the highest compliance standards."
Another hand shot up, from a woman in the front row — also mine. "If there are no issues, why did two compliance officers resign last quarter?"
Now the murmurs began.
Gerald's jaw tightened. "Personnel changes are a normal part of business. We have complete confidence in our team."
The third questioner wasn't mine, but I didn't need him to be. The seed was planted, and fear was contagious. "Mr. Pike, how would the loss of that contract affect our earnings per share?"
This time, Gerald hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. But in a room full of people whose fortunes depended on his confidence, that hesitation was blood in the water.
By the time the meeting ended, the damage was done. I didn't have to push any further. Shareholders were already clustering in groups, whispering, checking their phones. By the time the market opened the next morning, the rumors would hit the forums, the blogs, and eventually the analysts.
The psychology was simple: shareholders don't need proof to panic. They just need to believe someone else might know something they don't. And once fear starts, it feeds on itself.
I left the ballroom without speaking to anyone, slipping out a side exit into the cool afternoon air. Lena was waiting in the car.
"Well?" she asked.
I smiled. "Check the trading volume tomorrow."
Friday morning, the numbers came in. Valen's stock opened down three percent, then slid another five before noon. By closing bell, it had lost eleven percent of its value, and the sell orders were still piling up.
The Cross family wouldn't ignore me for long now. And when they came looking for Adrian Kane, they'd find exactly what I wanted them to see — a rising player with no visible ties to Ethan Cross.
That was the beauty of moving in shadows: you could start a war and let the other side fire the first public shot.
The Black Ledger's interface glowed softly in the dim light of my office. Data streams, charts, predictive models — all shifting in real time. The AI calculated that Valen's board would call an emergency meeting within the week. It also calculated that two of their key institutional investors were now "highly likely" to sell off portions of their holdings to limit exposure.
Those shares would be expensive. But not as expensive as they'd been a week ago.
And once I had them, I'd have a seat at Valen's boardroom table — as their newest, most dangerous shareholder.