Grant Sullivan POV
Grant notices it first during a Tuesday morning meeting.
His CFO, a man named Robert, is presenting quarterly numbers and something is off. The stock price has dropped. Not dramatically. But noticeably. Three percent in one week.
Grant leans back in his chair and watches Robert fumble through an explanation about market fluctuations and investor uncertainty.
"Who's buying?" Grant asks.
The room goes quiet.
"What do you mean who's buying?" Robert asks nervously.
"Someone is buying shares. Someone is buying enough shares that it's moving our price. So I'm asking who they are."
Robert shuffles papers. He looks at his laptop. He looks everywhere except at Grant.
"We're... we're not sure yet. The purchases are coming from multiple sources. Multiple shell companies. Multiple accounts. Our forensic team is trying to trace them back to a single investor but it's complicated."
Grant sits forward.
"How many shares have they purchased?"
"Approximately fifteen percent of the company over the last six weeks."
Grant feels something cold move through his chest.
Fifteen percent. That's significant. That's the amount someone buys when they have a plan. When they're building toward something.
"Find out who they are," Grant says quietly. "I don't care what it takes. Find them."
The meeting ends. Grant sits alone in the boardroom staring at the stock chart on the screen. Someone is hunting Sullivan Industries. Someone smart. Someone organized. Someone who knows how to hide their movements.
Grant has spent his entire career hunting companies. Buying them. Stripping them for parts. He knows predators because he's been one. And right now, he's sensing a predator circling his own company.
By Friday, Robert calls an emergency board meeting.
The mood in the room is different. Scared. Three board members who were loyal to Grant's father look nervous. Two newer board members look like they're already planning their exit strategy.
"We've identified some of the shell companies," Robert says. "But we can't trace them to a single investor. It's like they don't want to be found. Like they're specifically hiding who they are."
Grant's hands clench into fists under the table.
"How much do they own now?" he asks.
"Twenty-two percent. And they're still buying."
One of the board members, a man named Thomas who's been with the company for twenty years, speaks up.
"Grant, we need to consider buyback options. We need to do something to stop this."
"We will," Grant says. But even as he says it, he knows it's not enough. Whoever is doing this is too smart. Too organized. They're three moves ahead already.
Grant stops sleeping.
He comes to the office at 6 AM and leaves at midnight. He studies every transaction. Every purchase. Every shell company name trying to find a pattern that will lead him to whoever is doing this.
His personal assistant brings him coffee at 3 AM. His security team starts looking worried when he shows up in the same clothes three days in a row.
He hasn't eaten properly in a week. His jaw is tight. His hands shake slightly when he holds documents.
Something is hunting him. Someone is systematically hunting him and he can't figure out who.
One night, sitting alone in his office at 2 AM, Grant thinks about Iris.
He thinks about her for the first time in six months. About the way she looked at investor conferences. Smart. Analytical. The way she could see patterns in markets that other people missed. The way she understood systems and weaknesses and exactly where to apply pressure to make something collapse.
She would be good at this. If she wanted to destroy him, this is exactly how she would do it.
Grant immediately pushes the thought away.
Iris is gone. She disappeared after the wedding. She's probably working somewhere normal. Probably trying to rebuild her life. Probably hates him enough that she never wants to see him again.
She's not smart enough or cold enough or angry enough to orchestrate something like this.
Is she?
No. She's not. She can't be.
Grant throws himself back into work.
He calls every contact he has in the financial world. He asks questions. He demands answers. He throws money at forensic accountants and private investigators trying to find out who's buying his company.
Nobody can find anything.
The shell companies are so well hidden that even people whose job it is to find hidden ownership trails can't figure it out. Whoever is doing this knows how to hide better than most criminals.
By the second week, three board members resign.
They don't give reasons. They just submit their resignations and disappear. Grant knows why. They're jumping ship because they sense that something is wrong. That something is coming that Grant can't stop.
He's right.
By the third week, the stock has dropped twelve percent. By the fourth week, it's dropped eighteen percent. By the fifth week, it's dropped twenty-five percent.
Grant watches his company lose two hundred million dollars in value and can't do anything to stop it.
His mother calls. She sounds worried.
"Grant, what's happening? I heard about the stock dropping. Is everything okay with the company?"
"Everything is fine," he lies. "Just normal market fluctuations."
She doesn't believe him. But she doesn't push.
That Friday, Grant is in his office at midnight eating his third cup of coffee of the night when Robert walks in.
Robert looks worse than Grant feels. His face is pale. His hands are shaking. He's holding a folder like it might explode.
"Sir," Robert says. "We need to talk."
"What is it?" Grant asks.
Robert sets the folder on Grant's desk. His hands are trembling.
"Someone owns forty-five percent of the company," Robert whispers. "We found documentation through a different forensic team. The purchases were spread across so many accounts that it took until now to connect them all. But it's one investor. One person. They own nearly half of Sullivan Industries."
Grant feels the room tilt.
Forty-five percent. That's not just significant. That's controlling. That's ownership. That's someone deciding the future of his company.
"Who are they?" Grant asks. His voice sounds hollow.
"We still don't know. The trail ends in shell companies that lead to other shell companies. It's like trying to follow smoke. But Grant, there's something else."
"What?"
"At the next board meeting, they're going to call for a vote. With forty-five percent of the shares, they can put forward a motion to replace you as CEO. They can put forward anything they want. And they'll have enough votes to pass it."
Grant stands up. He walks to the window. He looks out at New York City glittering below him. His city. His company. His empire.
All of it slipping through his fingers like smoke.
"How long do we have?" he asks quietly.
"Two weeks until the board meeting. Two weeks until they make their move."
Grant closes his eyes.
Someone has been hunting him. Someone smart. Someone organized. Someone who understands his company better than he understands it himself.
And in two weeks, they're going to take everything from him.
He still doesn't know who they are.
But deep in his chest, Grant starts to feel something. A memory. A face. A woman in a wedding dress looking at him like he just broke her entire world.
No. It can't be.