Page 138 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
THE PHANTOM TRIO UNMASKED
“Since the beta launch party, the press has been digging,” Sterling says smoothly. “Your anonymity is completely gone, gentlemen. They know exactly who you are now, and they’re actively hunting for blood.”
He taps the printout. There are grainy, zoomed-in photos of them from the launch party last month—Ethan looking furious at a reporter, Owen laughing with a model, and Asher looking like he wants to murder the camera.
And in the background of all three photos, blurry but undeniably present, is me.
“You three remained anonymous for years,” Sterling continues. “That mystery was a massive asset. Now, you’re public figures, and public figures are heavily scrutinized.”
“We anticipated this,” Ethan replies calmly. “We have a strict PR strategy in place.”
“Do you?” Sterling shifts his cold, calculating gaze entirely to me. “Miss Hartley. You’re the voice of Mosaic, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re also… quite close to the founders?”
A spike of cold dread nails me to my chair.
Under the table, Asher shifts his laptop just enough so the hard plastic taps my elbow—a silent, grounding signal.
“I’m the Lead Strategist,” I say, keeping my voice remarkably steady despite the nausea churning in my gut. “I work closely with the executive team to ensure our messaging is aligned.”
“Of course,” Sterling smiles, though the expression never reaches his eyes.
“Here is the reality, gentlemen,” Sterling says, dropping the pleasantries. “The convertible notes from your Series A funding mature on Friday. That’s fifty million dollars in debt, plus interest.”
Ethan stiffens. “We were negotiating an extension.”
“The extension is off the table,” Sterling says, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “The market is volatile, and my consortium wants absolute security. So, here are your options.”
He raises his hand, holding up three fingers.
“Option one: you pay back the fifty million by Friday at five o’clock.”
“Done,” Owen says immediately, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll wire it from my personal trust right now. We don’t need your extension.”
Sterling smiles with a cold, reptilian satisfaction. “Read the fine print, Owen. Clause fourteen, section C, clearly states that repayment must be made via company liquidity generated from operations. No external injections, and absolutely no founder bailouts. If you try to pay it with your personal trust, it counts as a change of control event.”
“Which instantly triggers the conversion,” Ethan realizes, his voice dropping to a deadly timbre. “You rigged the contract.”
“I secured my investment,” Sterling corrects. “You can’t pay it personally, and based on Mosaic’s current burn rate, the company certainly doesn’t have fifty million in liquid cash.”
He drops his index finger.
“Which leaves option two. The debt converts to equity. I acquire fifty-one percent of Mosaic, taking the majority and the board. And the very first thing I do with my new controlling stake is fire the three of you and install my own corporate team to manage the profits.”
The silence in the room is absolute, echoing like the heavy steel click of a trap snapping shut.
“You’re holding us hostage,” Owen says, his voice low and incredibly dangerous.
“I’m protecting my assets,” Sterling replies, utterly unfazed. He drops his middle finger, leaving only one. “Which brings us to option three.”
He slides the folder the rest of the way across the table.
“You sign the Series B term sheet today. This restructures the debt, keeps you in the driver’s seat, and leaves you in full control of your company.”
“With a condition,” Ethan guesses, staring at the manila folder like it’s a live explosive.
