The Cross empire falls
The night the Cross empire began to unravel, the city refused to sleep.
Lights burned in office towers long past midnight, and across continents, in sealed trading rooms that smelled of coffee and panic, screens glowed with a feverish intensity. Red arrows plunged downward in relentless streams, jagged and merciless, like open wounds torn across digital flesh. Numbers shifted so fast they seemed alive, convulsing as billions evaporated in seconds. Analysts shouted over one another. Traders slammed fists onto desks. Somewhere, someone whispered a prayer that would not be answered.
By dawn, what Adrian Cross had built over decades—through strategy, brutality, brilliance, and sheer force of will—was disintegrating.
In the penthouse high above the city, Emilia watch
