Chapter 4 - The House of Cards Collapses
Before Crypto-King could formulate a snarky comeback, his own expensive smartphone—the very device broadcasting our confrontation to nearly two million concurrent viewers—let out a piercing, continuous alarm shriek.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The influencer blinked, stumbling backward a half-step. He looked down at his screen. The live stream chat was no longer moving at a normal speed; it was a blinding, incomprehensible waterfall of flashing text, emojis, and emergency warnings.
“BRO DELETE THE STREAM RIGHT NOW”
“THAT’S JULIAN VANCE YOU ABSOLUTE MORON”
“RIP THIS GUY'S ENTIRE CAREER”
“CRYPTO-KING IS FINISHED LMAO”
“IS THAT THE TECHNOVA FOUNDER?! HOLY SHIT”
"What the—" Crypto-King muttered, tapping frantically at his screen. "What are you nerds spamming about? Stop trolling my chat!"
"They aren't trolling," I said, slipping my hands casually into my trousers pockets. "They're watching a live execution."
My phone buzzed one last time. A direct message from Marcus Vance popped up on my screen: “The SEC has been notified of suspicious short-selling patterns tied to your location. Legal injunctions filed against his holding accounts. Do you want us to completely liquidate his assets, or should we leave him homeless first?”
I tapped a quick reply: “Let's see how much fight is left in the lion first.”
Suddenly, Crypto-King’s phone screen flashed bright red, replacing his live-stream interface with an official-looking corporate notification banner. He stared at it, his face draining of all its spray-tanned color in an instant.
"No... no, no, no," he stammered, his fingers trembling so violently he nearly dropped the thousand-dollar device. "This... this is a glitch. My wallet... my crypto portfolio... it's... it's locked?"
He looked up at me, his sunglasses sliding crookedly down his nose. The arrogant swagger was completely gone, replaced by a cold, animalistic panic. "What... what did you do? What did you just do?!"
"Me?" I raised an eyebrow innocently. "I haven't even made a phone call yet."
"Your accounts have been frozen under federal emergency liquidity verification protocols," a crisp, authoritative voice echoed from behind us.
We both turned. Striding purposefully across the parking plaza were three men in sharp, charcoal-gray tailored suits, wearing federal compliance badges clipped to their lapels. Behind them rolled two sleek black corporate SUVs bearing the insignia of Apex Global Financial Security—TechNova’s primary asset protection firm.
The lead agent, a towering man with a severe military posture named Commander Vance (no relation to me, though he moved with the same terrifying efficiency), stepped right up to the pale, shaking influencer.
"Mr. Bradley Vance—no relation to the founder," the agent stated coldly, flashing a digital warrant directly into the influencer's face. "You are currently broadcasting unauthorized proprietary surveillance of a protected global asset under international corporate security statutes, specifically Title 42, Section 8 of the Global Tech Infrastructure Protection Act."
"Wait—what?!" Bradley shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. "I didn't do anything! He was blocking my Ferrari! He's just some broke guy in a Walmart shirt!"
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Commander Vance slowly turned his head, looking past Bradley straight at me. He snapped his heels together, brought his right hand up in a crisp, formal salute, and said loud enough for the live-stream microphone to capture every crystal-clear syllable:
"Good afternoon, Mr. Vance. We apologize for the security breach in your perimeter. Shall we clear the area for you immediately?"
