Page 85 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“No,” I say. My voice comes out like broken glass—sharp, fragile. “That’s not possible. Tidball only had thirteen percent. We checked this. We audited?—”
“Those holdings were redistributed. Tranches shifted. Silent partners activated.” She tilts her head, apologetic. “It was surgical. Elegant, honestly.”
Surgical.
Elegant.
Like a fucking knife to the spine.
I feel my nails digging into the table’s edge. Feel the varnish crack under the pressure.
“Someone should have warned me,” I say.
The woman offers a tight-lipped smile. “You were warned. The memos were sent. Your comm logs confirm receipt.”
“I was told they were irrelevant.”
I don’t name him.
But his shadow is thick in the room.
Tidball.
Jonathan.
Mentor. Advisor. Betrayer.
I can’t breathe.
I stand.
Too fast.
The chair screeches backward and nearly topples, but I don’t stop. I walk out—heel steps echoing like gunshots against the obsidian flooring. My compad is buzzing in my palm, message after message lighting up the screen.
Security audit pending.
Legal team escalation requested.
Shareholder emergency call scheduled in ten.
I swipe them all away.
I don’t care.
Not right now.
Not with the hallway warping around me like a bad dream, walls too close, lights too bright.
I reach the executive elevator, slap the panel. The doors hiss open. I step inside, hit the button for the top floor, and try not to throw up.
The walls are mirrored.
I catch a glimpse of myself.
And hate what I see.
I look like my mother.
