Page 67 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“You’re not here to buy,” he says.
“No,” I say. “I’m here tocollect.”
He hands over raw correspondence — emails, voice logs, coded messages between accounts tied to insider shareholders, offshore subsidiaries, shell corporations, and — unmistakably — a recurring signature:
Tidball.
But masked.
Not just masked —engineered.
Like a master draftsperson hiding the core beam support inside a decorative column.
This isn’t sloppiness.
This isexpert obfuscation.
Yet mistakes were made.
Enough for me to follow the thread.
And I do.
At each turn,I feel it — that strange quiet that comes right before the collapse of facades.
I can almost taste the truth in the air — a brackish mix of ozone and inevitability.
And for a moment — just a flash — I feel that sick, cold calm again.
The same feeling I got when Ithoughtabout killing Tidball.
Not anger.
Not bloodlust.
Just absolute, serene clarity.
But I don’t act.
Because she’s built a world of order not chaos.
And I’m not here to burn her world down.
I’m here to save it.
By tearing out the rot.
I gatherevery scrap of incriminating data — transactional trails that show fraud, mislabeled shipping logs, payoff accounts that tie back to manufacturing crises, delayed contracts timed for maximum destabilization, and more.
Every piece of this puzzle points back to a pattern:
Tidball didn’t just want her to fail.
He wanted to orchestrate it.
Step by step.
Crisis by crisis.
