Chapter 5 Who is the Final Prey?

Chapter 5: Who is the Final Prey?

The trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange was exactly as I remembered it from my father's photos—a cathedral of capitalism where fortunes were made and destroyed with the tap of a keyboard. Five years ago, I'd watched from home as the Chasey Industries stock plummeted on these very screens, taking my family's legacy with it. Today, I stood in the center of it all, no longer a victim but an architect of destruction.

"Ready?" Ainsley asked, adjusting the lapel of my designer suit—a far cry from the maid's uniform I'd worn just days ago.

"I was born ready," I replied, checking the flash drive in my pocket one last time.

The floor was buzzing with anticipation. Donovan-Townsend-Henderson Group shares had been fluctuating wildly since the announcement of the leadership change. Rumors of fraud investigations had begun circulating, but no one knew the full story yet.

No one except us.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the floor director announced, "we now go live to the special announcement from Bates Industries regarding the DTH Group acquisition."

The massive screens overhead switched to a live feed of the press conference room where Ainsley would be speaking momentarily. But first, I had a job to do.

I slipped away to the technical control room, flashing the badge Ainsley had provided. The technician barely glanced up.

"System maintenance," I explained, plugging my drive into the main console. "Just a quick update before the broadcast."

The file transfer took thirty seconds—exactly as we'd planned. I was back on the trading floor before anyone noticed my absence.

Ainsley took the podium, commanding the attention of the room with her presence alone. "Thank you all for coming. Today marks a new chapter for the businesses formerly known as the DTH Group."

As she continued her prepared remarks about corporate responsibility and market confidence, I watched the traders' faces. They were buying it—the perfect corporate takeover story.

They had no idea what was coming.

"Before I outline our vision for the future," Ainsley continued smoothly, "I believe in transparency. The public deserves to know the truth about the men who built this company."

That was my cue. I pressed the remote trigger in my pocket.

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The screens suddenly changed, splitting into three separate video feeds—each one showing one of my former employers in compromising situations.

Shane and Malcolm in what appeared to be a secret meeting, exchanging documents clearly labeled "CONFIDENTIAL: NEURATECH ACQUISITION."

Freddie accepting an envelope from a young graduate student, his voice crystal clear through the audio: "This guarantees your dissertation approval. No questions asked."

The trading floor erupted in chaos. Phones began ringing. Traders shouted orders to sell.

"These recordings," Ainsley continued calmly despite the pandemonium, "along with substantial documentary evidence, have been provided to the SEC and FBI. They show a pattern of securities fraud, academic dishonesty, and corporate espionage that has undermined market integrity."

DTH Group stock began plummeting in real-time on the ticker—15%, 23%, 37% down in minutes.

I felt a moment of pure satisfaction watching the numbers fall. This was for my father, who had hanged himself in prison rather than serve twenty years for crimes these men had committed.

Suddenly, the screens went black.

Confused murmurs spread across the trading floor. The technicians rushed to restore the feed.

When the screens came back on, it wasn't Ainsley at the podium.

It was Shane.

"What you're witnessing is corporate sabotage," he declared, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. "These manipulated videos are part of a hostile takeover attempt by Bates Industries, orchestrated by a convicted felon's daughter seeking misguided revenge."

The cameras panned to show security guards entering the press conference room. Ainsley was nowhere to be seen.

My heart pounded. This wasn't part of the plan.

I grabbed my phone to call her but found no signal. Jammed.

Shane continued, "Maxine Chasey has systematically infiltrated our organization to plant false evidence. We've been working with authorities to—"

The feed cut again, this time replaced by Malcolm's face.

"Shane is lying," he said, looking directly into the camera. "I can confirm that the evidence is real. I participated in these illegal activities under duress and am now cooperating with investigators."

Another cut—to Freddie in what looked like a police interview room.

"The academic fraud was systematic," he stated flatly. "We destroyed careers to build our own. Including Harrison Chasey's."

The screens split again, showing all three men in different locations, each telling contradicting stories. The trading floor had fallen silent, everyone transfixed by the unfolding drama.

I pushed through the crowd toward the exit. Something was very wrong.

In the hallway, I finally spotted Ainsley being escorted by her security team. When she saw me, she broke away and grabbed my arm, pulling me into a service corridor.

"We've been compromised," she hissed. "Someone leaked our plan."

"How? Nobody knew except—"

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

"You," I whispered. "You tipped them off."

Ainsley's expression changed—the mask of partnership falling away to reveal something colder, more calculated.

"The plan was always to let them think they'd outmaneuvered us," she said, her fingers digging into my arm. "Their counterattack was predictable."

"You used me as bait," I said, trying to pull away. "While you what—made a separate deal with them?"

Her grip tightened. "The game is bigger than your petty revenge, sister."

The way she said "sister" sent ice through my veins.

Ainsley pushed me against the wall, her forearm suddenly across my throat. "Did you really think I spent five years planning this just for your father's redemption?"

I struggled for breath. "We had a deal."

"We still do," she replied, easing the pressure slightly. "Your father's name will be cleared. The evidence is real. Those three will pay for their crimes."

"Then why—"

"Because I need them desperate, not destroyed," she said. "Desperate men make better puppets."

Through the small window in the corridor door, I could see the trading screens. DTH Group stock had stabilized at 40% down—a massive hit, but not the complete destruction we'd planned.

"The game is over, Maxine," Ainsley said, finally releasing me. "You've served your purpose."

I rubbed my throat, mind racing. "What happens now?"

"Now?" She straightened her perfect white suit. "Now I return to that podium and announce a settlement agreement. The three musketeers resign with golden parachutes. I take control of their assets. The market stabilizes. Everyone wins."

"Except justice," I spat.

Ainsley's smile was cold. "Justice is for children and fools. Power is the only currency that matters."

She turned to leave, then paused. "By the way, that childhood photo you've been so eager to see? It shows more than their connection."

She pulled out her phone, displaying an old photograph: three young boys at some kind of summer camp, arms around each other's shoulders. But in the background, barely visible, was a fourth figure.

A young Ainsley Bates.

"We were all there the summer your father's company launched," she said quietly. "The summer everything changed."

Before I could respond, she walked away, back toward the press conference.

I stood frozen, trying to process this revelation. Ainsley hadn't just been working against the three men. She'd known them all along. Been part of their world from the beginning.

Which meant her interest in my revenge was never about justice.

It was about something much older. Much deeper.

As I watched her retake the podium on the monitor in the hallway, smiling serenely at the cameras, one question burned in my mind:

Who was the final prey in this hunt? Them? Me? Or was Ainsley playing a game no one else could see?

I touched the tattoo on my shoulder—the encoded evidence that could destroy them all. The ultimate insurance policy that even Ainsley didn't fully understand.

"Game's not over yet," I whispered to myself. "Not by a long shot."