Chapter Sixty Five: The Trap

He pulled out a tablet and showed me news headlines that painted Van Alston Industries as a company in crisis. "Cost overruns in the manufacturing division. Questions about accounting irregularities. Three major clients reconsidering their contracts."

Every single headline had been planted by our team. Every crisis had been manufactured. But seeing them presented as evidence of my incompetence still stung.

"Business has its challenges," I said carefully.

"Of course it does. But some challenges are larger than others." He put the tablet away and leaned back in his chair. "I want to help, Scarlett. Blackstone International has the resources and expertise to stabilize Van Alston Industries before the situation becomes irreversible."

"At what cost?"

"A very reasonable one. Full acquisition at forty percent above current market value. Your employees keep their jobs, your grandmother's legacy is preserved, and you walk away with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life."

The offer was generous. Almost obscenely generous.

Which meant he was more desperate than he wanted me to know.

"That's... a significant offer," I said.

"It is. Because I believe in the Van Alston legacy. Because I think you deserve better than to watch your inheritance crumble while you're still learning how to manage it."

His voice was warm, understanding, almost hypnotic. I could see how he'd convinced so many other CEOs to surrender their companies. He made destruction sound like salvation.

"I'll need to discuss this with the board," I said.

"Of course. But Scarlett..." He reached across the table and touched my hand, his fingers cold despite the warmth of the restaurant. "Don't wait too long. Companies in crisis have a way of deteriorating quickly. What looks manageable today could be catastrophic tomorrow."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a reality of business. Markets are unforgiving. Investors are impatient. And your stock price has already dropped fifteen percent since we started talking."

He was right. I could see it on my phone—Van Alston's stock continuing its carefully orchestrated decline.

"Give me three days," I said.

"Two," he countered. "I'm afraid my investors won't wait longer than that."

"Alright. Two days."

His smile was triumphant, though he tried to hide it. "Excellent. I look forward to working with you, Scarlett."

As I walked out of the restaurant, I felt his eyes on my back, cataloging my posture, my pace, looking for signs of defeat or desperation.

I gave him exactly what he expected to see—a young woman overwhelmed by circumstances beyond her control, walking toward a future she couldn't quite grasp.

Inside, I was smiling.

Day Five

"He bought it completely," I reported to the war room at eight the next morning. "Hook, line, and sinker."

The team had been monitoring news feeds and social media all night, tracking the ripple effects of our manufactured crisis. Van Alston's stock price had stabilized overnight, but the damage to our reputation looked devastating from the outside.

"His people have been making calls," Sarah reported. "Reaching out to our major clients, hinting that Van Alston might not be a stable long-term partner."

"Let them," I said. "The more pressure he applies, the more desperate we look."

"And the more confident he becomes," Dominic added.

"Exactly." I moved to the main screen, which showed Blackstone International's stock price over the past week. "Now comes the fun part."

I pulled up a series of financial documents that Sarah's team had been preparing in secret. Shell companies, offshore accounts, and investment vehicles that were so complex they looked like abstract art.

"For the past seventy-two hours," I said, "we've been quietly acquiring Blackstone International stock through a network of subsidiary companies."

The room went completely silent.

"How much?" David asked.

"As of this morning, we own approximately twelve percent of Blackstone International."

Jules whistled low. "That's got to be worth..."

"About eight hundred million dollars," Dominic said, his voice carefully neutral.

"Eight hundred million that Marcus Blackstone doesn't know we have," I continued. "Because he's been so focused on acquiring us that he hasn't been watching his own stock price."

I clicked to the next screen, which showed Blackstone's acquisition history alongside his company's financial structure.

"Here's what Marcus Blackstone doesn't want anyone to know," I said. "Every hostile takeover he's executed has been financed through leveraged buyouts that use the target company's own assets as collateral."

"He's been cannibalizing companies to pay for acquiring companies," Sarah said, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Exactly. Blackstone International isn't actually profitable. It's a house of cards built on debt and the liquidated assets of the companies he's destroyed."

The implications hit the room like a physical force.

"If someone were to acquire enough Blackstone stock to demand a financial audit..." David said slowly.

"They'd discover that the company is essentially bankrupt," I finished. "Held together by creative accounting and the continuous cash flow from new acquisitions."

Dominic was staring at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Not just admiration or attraction, but something deeper. Recognition.

"You're not just trying to save Van Alston," he said quietly. "You're trying to destroy him completely."

"I'm trying to stop a predator who's been hunting families for twenty years," I corrected. "And yes, that requires destroying him completely."

The room erupted in excited conversation as the team began to understand the full scope of what we were attempting. This wasn't just a corporate takeover defense—it was a complete reversal of power that would leave Marcus Blackstone as vulnerable as every company he'd ever destroyed.

My phone rang. Unknown number.

"Scarlett Blackwood."

"You clever little bitch."

Marcus Blackstone's voice was completely different now. Gone was the fatherly warmth, the practiced charm. What remained was pure, undiluted rage.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Blackstone."

"Don't play games with me. I know what you've been doing. The shell companies, the stock purchases, the manufactured crisis. Very impressive for someone who's supposedly never run so much as a lemonade stand."

My blood went cold, but I kept my voice steady. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." His laugh was like broken glass. "Well, let me explain it to you. You think you're very clever, buying up my stock while pretending to be a helpless little girl. But you've made one crucial mistake."

"What's that?"

"You forgot that I've been playing this game longer than you've been alive. And I don't lose."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, my mind racing through possibilities and contingencies.

"What is it?" Dominic asked.

"He knows," I said. "He knows everything."

The war room fell silent as the implications sank in.

Marcus Blackstone had discovered our trap.

Which meant he was about to spring one of his own.

And I had no idea what it was going to be.