I was losing an argument with a whiteboard.
It was 9:17 p.m. on a Thursday that had refused to end. The Stellar conference room was empty except for me and the ghost of my own frustration, a silence so complete I could hear the hum of the HVAC system fighting against the October chill outside. The walls were glass, dark now, reflecting my own disheveled image back at me—hair escaping its clip, ink stains on my fingers, a sweater that had seen better decades.
The AI risk engine was ninety percent complete. Ninety percent might as well have been zero.
The problem was the tail risk. The algorithm could predict standard market fluctuations with eerie precision, identifying patterns in currency shifts and commodity trades faster than anything on the market. But the black swan events—the cata
