You open your mouth. The words are right there, close enough to taste, something about bad decisions, about debts that aren’t financial, about the feeling of standing on a ledge you built yourself. Elizabeth’s eyes are steady, patient, the kind of patient that makes honesty feel possible. “I got involved in something,” you start. “Something I shouldn’t have, ” Your phone screams. A private number. The timing feels surgical. Elizabeth’s expression shifts, not hurt, not yet, but the beginning of the shape hurt takes when someone realises they are about to be shut out. You look at the screen. It's a private number. You and Elizabeth lock eyes, she turns away. You excuse yourself. “Yeah,” you answer. Dane doesn’t waste time. “Progress report.” You lean against the wall. “Good morning to you too.” “Julian,” The tone says enough. "What? No greetings on the job? Jesus." You sigh quietly. “Alright. I started mapping the firm. Blackridge Capital is exactly what I know it'd be,” you continue. “Private equity. They borrow money from banks and use it to buy large positions in publicly traded companies.” “Standard leverage model.” Dane grunts softly. “Yeah, but the exposure is interesting.” “How?” “I pulled their portfolio breakdown from a few public filings and cross-checked it with some financial databases.” “And?” “There’s a heavy concentration in pharmaceuticals.” A pause. “Define heavy?” Dane inquires. “Big Pharma. A lot of it. Vaccine companies. Oncology drugs. Insulin manufacturers. Medical equipment firms. The same sector keeps appearing over and over.” Dane exhales slowly. “That’s useful.” “It means if that sector dips together, the firm’s risk systems will go crazy.” “Which pushes them toward emergency decisions.” “Exactly.” Another pause. “And the target?” Dane asks. “Isabella Laurent.” “You’re sure about her?” “She runs risk oversight. When markets get unstable, she’s one of the people deciding whether the firm sends emergency money to lenders.” “So she controls timing.” “She controls how quickly they react,” you correct. Dane lets that sit for a second. “You reached her yet?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “Because rushing it kills the operation.” The call centre noise bleeds faintly through the corridor behind you, agents apologising to customers, keyboards clacking, someone laughing too loudly. Dane finally speaks again. “So what’s the plan?” “Build a presence first,” you say, and hear how thin that sounds against the day job noise. “Someone internal. Risk analyst type. Quiet voice in her workflow. Not a push. A colleague.” “And then?” “Then when the market gets noisy, that voice suggests caution people can mistake for professionalism.” “Delay disguised as discipline.” Dane chuckles once. “Yeah,” you say, because arguing the ethics of it over this line would be worse than useless. “You think it’ll work?” You look back toward the call floor. Elizabeth is leaning over someone’s cubicle laughing about something. A supervisor walks past with a clipboard. You almost want the honesty of that ordinary sound to count for something. "I think so," you say. "If we stop short of making her feel hunted." The line goes quiet for a moment. Then Dane adds, “And Julian?” “Yeah?” “Don’t get sentimental about the target.” The line clicks dead. You pocket the phone and stand there for a second longer, listening to the call floor through the wall. The conversation with Elizabeth is gone now, swallowed by the job you chose instead. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Dane Warning After Truth|Dane Warning After Truth]]