The lobby of the Nexus AI tower was a mausoleum of broken ambition. Yesterday, it had been electric with the thrum of imminent victory, champagne chilling in silver buckets. Today, a grim silence hung in the air, broken only by the hushed, frantic whispers of employees who looked like they’d seen a ghost. They had. The ghost of their stock options.
I walked through the chaos as if encased in glass. On my right was Arthur Vance, my lawyer, a man whose calm demeanor was a weapon in itself. On my left was David Chen, the early investor Julian had screwed over, his face a mask of vindicated fury. We weren’t here to ask for permission. We were a hostile takeover of the narrative.
The emergency board meeting was on the 50th floor, in the glass-walled room we used to call the ‘Cathedral’. As we
