Chapter 9 - CHECKMATE
The screen lit up with a high-definition copy of Vanguard Holdings' SEC filing, specifically highlighting the projected financials they were using to justify their takeover bid.
"Mr. Ashworth and Vanguard have promised you massive returns based on these numbers," I told the crowd. "Numbers that reflect a 400% projected growth in our tech division."
Gregory looked smug. "Numbers your own board provided, Eleanor."
"Indeed," I smiled. "Except our tech division has been entirely defunct for six months. I shut it down and reallocated the assets into our medical research arm."
Confusion swept the room. Gregory’s smugness faltered.
"The numbers on that screen," I continued, my voice gaining volume and authority, "are completely fabricated. They were generated by my cyber-intelligence team as a honeypot. And Mr. Richard Hayes," I pointed directly at the sweating board member, "illegally downloaded them and sold them to Vanguard Holdings to facilitate this fraudulent takeover."
The room erupted into chaos. Richard Hayes dropped back into his chair, covering his face with his hands. The Vanguard executives immediately backed away from Gregory, their legal minds calculating the sheer magnitude of the federal crime they had just stumbled into.
"Using falsified documents to manipulate a public stock offering and launch a hostile takeover is a federal offense," I projected over the noise. "Which is why I forwarded all server logs, communication transcripts, and bank records directly to the SEC and the FBI this morning."
As if on cue, the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom swung open. Half a dozen agents in dark windbreakers marked FBI strode into the room.
Gregory froze, his face losing all color. He looked exactly as he had that night at the gala—terrified, out of his depth, and finally realizing who he had crossed.
"Gregory Ashworth," the lead agent said, holding up a warrant. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit securities fraud, corporate espionage, and embezzlement."
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Cameras flashed like a strobe light as handcuffs were locked onto Gregory's wrists. He didn't fight. He just stared at me, completely broken.
"I told you, Gregory," I said softly, though the microphone picked it up. "I like to keep things organized."
