"These are the purchase records for shares acquired through Oceanview Holdings, one of Hoffstead's Cayman Island entities." She taps the left side of the screen. "And these are the SEC filings that Oceanview submitted documenting those same purchases." She taps the right side. "Notice anything different?"
I lean in, squinting at the tiny numbers, and after a moment I see it—a discrepancy in the capital flow. The purchase records show millions of dollars appearing in offshore accounts on the exact same days our internal budgets reported , unexplained losses.
"The capital injections do not match." "
The capital injections do not match." Cypress's smile is sharp and predatory. "Which would normally just require a financial clarification, except that the funding dates for these offshore accounts perfectly align with withdrawals from our company's pension and R&D funds during Hoffstead's tenure as CEO. And when I dug deeper, I found that this is not an isolated incident. Of the twelve shell companies he used to acquire his controlling interest, eight of them were capitalized with funds that suspiciously mirror our internal deficits."
"Which means what, exactly?" "
Which means that if I can prove he didn't just buy those shares, but bought them using embezzled company money—we have grounds to challenge the entire acquisition. The shares would be invalidated as proceeds of a crime, the purchase would be reversed, and Hoffstead would be facing federal embezzlement and securities fraud charges on top of everything else."
"You said if you can prove it. I assume that is not a simple matter?"
"No." Her excitement dims slightly, replaced by frustrated determination. "The electronic records only show suspicious parallel timelines. They do not explicitly link the stolen company funds to his offshore accounts. To prove fraud, I would need access to internal documentation—private ledgers, bank transfers, anything that definitively proves Hoffstead routed our money into his shell companies."
"And such documentation would be..."
"In his office. Specifically, in the vault where he keeps physical copies of all his most sensitive business records." She sets down her tablet and meets my gaze directly. "I know this because a former assistant of his—someone he fired and humiliated three years ago—told me that Hoffstead is pathologically paranoid about digital security. He keeps paper backups of everything important, locked away in a fireproof safe in his private office. If there is evidence of deliberate securities fraud, that is where it will be."
I absorb this information, turning it over in my mind like a tactical problem to be solved. The obstacle is clear—we need access to an enemy stronghold without being detected. The stakes are equally clear—success means victory, failure means utter defeat and possible criminal prosecution for corporate espionage. It is the kind of problem I understand, the kind of challenge that speaks to my warrior's soul in a way that spreadsheets and shareholder meetings never could.
"You are suggesting we break into Hoffstead's office and steal documents from his private vault."
"I am suggesting we acquire evidence of criminal activity that he is attempting to hide." Cypress knows the risks. She knows what we could lose. And she is suggesting it anyway, because shebelieves—as I am beginning to believe—that this is our only path to victory.
"It would need to happen tonight." I am already calculating logistics, mapping out approaches and contingencies and escape routes. "Tomorrow he will be preparing for the board meeting, surrounded by lawyers and assistants. Tonight, his office will be minimally staffed."
"His building uses electronic key cards for after-hours access. I can get us through the main entrance, but the vault itself uses a biometric scanner. Fingerprint and retinal."
"Then we will need another approach. A distraction, perhaps. Or an ally on the inside who can disable the security system."
Cypress shakes her head. "There is no one inside we can trust. Hoffstead inspires either fear or greed in his employees, and both of those make for unreliable conspirators."
I pace toward the window again, but this time my movement is purposeful rather than aimless. My mind is racing through possibilities, discarding options that are too risky or too slow or too likely to leave evidence of our involvement. This is the kind of problem-solving I was trained for—finding weaknesses in enemy defenses, identifying exploitable vulnerabilities, crafting strategies that turn apparent disadvantages into unexpected strengths.
"The biometric scanner." I turn back to face her. "You said it requires fingerprint and retinal verification. Is there a manual override? A failsafe in case of power failure or system malfunction?"
"I do not know. But I can find out." She is already reaching for her tablet, her fingers poised over the screen. "Give me an hour. I will pull the security system's technical specifications and identify any potential weaknesses."
"Do it. And while you are working, I will reach out to some... less conventional contacts. People who specialize in gaining access to places they are not supposed to be."
Cypress freezes, her eyes widening slightly. "Knox, are you talking about criminals?"
"I am talking about professionals who operate outside the boundaries of conventional warfare." I allow myself a small smile. "In my clan, we call them shadow-walkers. They are not warriors in the traditional sense, but they possess skills that are invaluable when brute force is not an option."
"You have connections to professional thieves."
"I have connections to people who can help us win this war. Is that a problem?"
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the conflict playing out behind her eyes—the pragmatic recognition of necessity warring with deeply ingrained respect for legal boundaries and ethical norms. I understand her hesitation. She has built her entire career on doing things the right way, on following rules and procedures and trusting that the system will reward those who play by its terms. What I am proposing goes against everything she has been taught to believe about how the world should work.
But we are long past the point where should matters. We are fighting for survival now, and survival sometimes requires methods that would make peacetime ethics uncomfortable.
"The documents we need prove that Hoffstead committed securities fraud. If we acquire them through illegal means, can they still be used as evidence?"
"That depends on how they are acquired and how they are presented. But I have found that evidence of serious criminal wrongdoing tends to attract attention regardless of its provenance. The authorities may not be able to use illegally obtained documents directly, but they can use them as aroadmap—a guide to tell them where to look and what questions to ask. And once they start looking in the right places, they will find enough legitimate evidence to build their own case."
"Then let us do this." She meets my gaze with unwavering resolve. "Let us break into Gerald Hoffstead's office, steal evidence of his crimes, and burn his entire empire to the ground."
