The Cross family didn't waste time.
Three days after Valen's stock nosedived, an article hit the business section of The Sentinel. It was the kind of piece that didn't read like a hit job at first glance — until you looked closer. The headline was sharp enough to cut.
"Mystery Financier Raises Questions: Who Is Adrian Kane?"
The first paragraph was harmless, even flattering. A "rising investor making waves in the tech sector." But then the tone shifted, paragraph by paragraph, the way poison slips into the bloodstream. Words like "unverified background," "aggressive acquisition tactics," and "potential regulatory scrutiny" appeared like warning signs. They didn't accuse me of anything illegal — that would be actionable — but they painted the picture of a man worth watching for the wrong reasons.
Lena dropped the paper on my desk. "They're coming for you."
"They're trying," I corrected.
She crossed her arms. "This is a warning shot. They're putting you on the radar so the regulators will sniff around. The more eyes on you, the harder it is to move quietly."
"Then we make the eyes look somewhere else," I said.
Rule one of crisis management: you don't fight the narrative head-on. That just keeps it alive. You redirect it.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping the edge of the desk as the Black Ledger projected media trend lines onto the wall screen. The AI flagged three high-engagement angles from the article: my "mystery" background, my aggressive deal-making style, and speculation about my next move.
The last one was the key.
If they wanted to speculate, I'd give them something to speculate about — something loud enough to drown out the rest.
The next morning, Hargrave Systems announced a "philanthropic initiative" — a $20 million urban redevelopment project in a crumbling industrial district. The press release framed it as a passion project for Adrian Kane, citing "personal ties to the community" and "a commitment to revitalizing local economies."
The personal ties were fiction, of course. The district was strategically chosen because a major logistics hub sat just outside it — a hub Valen Dynamics depended on for part of its supply chain.
If they wanted to paint me as a villain, I'd make sure the villain had a halo in the headlines.
The announcement exploded online. News outlets that had been chewing on The Sentinel's "mystery financier" piece were now running photos of me shaking hands with local officials, standing in front of renderings of sleek new apartment blocks and community centers.
The Sentinel's story died within forty-eight hours. Public interest had shifted. People don't remember the first story if the second one is bigger.
But that wasn't the real win.
The real win came when a local business journal ran a side piece connecting the redevelopment district to upcoming infrastructure contracts. The subtext was obvious: Adrian Kane wasn't just being charitable — he was positioning himself for future logistics control.
They were right. And now the idea was in the public sphere without me having to say a word.
By Friday, Lena was leaning against my office doorframe, a faint smirk on her face. "You turned a smear campaign into free publicity."
"I redirected it," I said. "Same as always. When someone shines a spotlight on you, you don't hide — you change what's in the light."
She dropped into the chair across from me. "They're not going to stop. You humiliated Valen in front of their shareholders. That's personal now."
"Good," I said. "Personal enemies are predictable."
That weekend, the Black Ledger pulled something interesting from its monitoring algorithms: unusual trading patterns in a Valen-adjacent supplier. Small sell orders, spread across multiple accounts, all linked to a private equity firm with known ties to the Cross family.
They were building a position in the shadows. Trying to starve Hargrave Systems of resources by cutting off a critical supplier.
It was a cute move.
I made two calls. The first was to a mid-tier logistics company I'd been courting for months — an outfit Valen had overlooked. I offered them a distribution contract worth three times their current annual revenue, contingent on immediate exclusivity. They signed within hours.
The second was to Clara Wynne.
"You've been waiting for the next story," I said.
"You've got one?" she asked.
"Better," I said. "I've got a narrative. 'Small Local Firm Lands Breakthrough Deal in Growing Logistics Sector.' Focus on the underdog. Make it about them."
She laughed. "You're making yourself the hero again."
"I'm just giving the audience someone to root for."
By Monday morning, Valen's supplier play was dead in the water. The exclusivity deal had locked them out, and the press was praising Hargrave Systems for "supporting small business."
The Cross family had fired their first shot. I'd turned it into another step forward.
That night, I stood by my apartment window, looking out over the city. Lights glittered like constellations, each one representing someone with something to lose or gain. The Black Ledger's glow reflected faintly off the glass beside me, its endless stream of data whispering possibilities.
War was coming into the open now. The quiet phase was over. Every move from here on would be faster, riskier, more public.
Good.
I wasn't here to survive.I was here to win.