Just then, the emergency internal comm system in the safe house rang insistently.
Andy's voice practically crashed out when Hawk answered, filled with obvious trembling and lingering terror: "Hawk! What the hell are you doing?! This time you've gone way... way too far!"
In the background, the solemn voice of a news anchor was audible; clearly, she was watching the same "disaster broadcast." Hawk could imagine Andy on the other side, eyes wide, her hand shaking too much to hold her coffee cup.
His tone was as light as if he were discussing a weekend picnic: "Oh? You mean the Pennsylvania one? You saw it? Decent visual effect, right?"
"Visual effect?!" Andy's voice ratcheted up an octave. "Is that the point? The entire factory blew sky-high! There are police everywhere, fire trucks, the FBI, Homeland Security vehicles! And all the experts are analyzing 'possible meteorite impact' or 'industrial safety failure'—it's making my heart race!"
She took a deep, shaky breath, her concern evident. "The most critical thing, Hawk. Are... are you certain you left no trace? What if, and I mean what if, they find some clue..."
Andy was one of the few who knew Hawk's abilities, so the moment the news broke, she realized this was his work. Who would have ever expected Hawk to attack TCRI on the physical plane just to reap rewards in the financial market?
"Andy," Hawk cut her off gently. "Relax. What kind of trace could possibly remain in a place thoroughly washed by a Mach 3 shockwave, thousands of degrees of Heat Ray, plus a chemical chain explosion? Especially in the core zone?"
He paused, adding with an almost teasing tone: "Besides, even if a high-definition satellite or a drone managed to capture some... blurred light or shadow... who's going to believe that was a person? They'll classify it as an optical phenomenon caused by the explosion or sensor malfunction. Be at peace."
The line went silent for a few seconds as Andy seemed to digest his absolute confidence. Hawk could even hear the sound of her aggressively chewing potato chips on her end.
"Will it really not be traced?" Andy's voice was finally more stable, but still laced with doubt.
"One hundred percent certain," Hawk stated flatly.
"Phew..." Andy let out a long breath, and the chewing intensified. "But... seriously, Hawk, that was ruthless. TCRI's stock is in absolute freefall. Emilia must be cleaning up, right?"
In the background, a financial news anchor's excited voice reported on TCRI's opening-bell plunge and instantaneous evaporation of market value.
"The harvest is ongoing," Hawk confirmed, looking at the real-time profit data streaming from Emilia's end—a string of numbers jumping wildly. "This is only the beginning."
"Tsk, tsk, poor TCRI. Wait, what's your beef with them anyway? You never mentioned it." Andy's tone had completely shifted to that of a spectator enjoying the drama.
"What beef?" Hawk recalled the chase by the thugs and bioweapons two nights ago.
They say the more you tolerate, the more you lose, and the more you back down, the angrier you get. Hawk never tolerates a loss like that. He stood up immediately and muttered a curse: "Damn it all!"
"Pfft—" Andy burst out laughing on the phone. "So... what factory is our esteemed CEO planning to take a stroll through next?"
Hawk looked at the "Houston" marker on the map, his tone casual. "Hmm... Texas BBQ is supposedly good. I hear they have a 'Crucible' down there. The temperature might be a bit low, so I think I'll go add some fuel to the fire."
Andy couldn't help but warn him, "Hawk Lane. Be careful you don't barbecue yourself."
"Don't worry," Hawk stood up and walked to the safe house's massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the gradually waking city. "Just remember, we know nothing. We're just the happy spectators."
"Yes, sir, my mysterious boss!" Andy drawled.
Later that night, outside Houston, Texas, at the "Precision Crucible" factory.
The same script played out again.
The factory's interior looked as though it had been tossed into an invisible shredder... Precise production line equipment was twisted into scrap metal; the core laser etching center was completely melted; the server arrays storing critical manufacturing data and molds were physically pulverized into dust; even the gigantic transport vehicles were blasted into piles of mangled steel.
This time, even the news helicopter cameras were shaking. In the trembling footage, the fortress symbolizing TCRI's cutting-edge manufacturing capability was declaring its end in the most horrific fashion.
The fig leaf of "safety accident," along with TCRI's last shred of market credibility, was utterly incinerated.
Panic, like the deadliest virus, completely shattered the investors' psychological defenses in the pre-dawn darkness.
The next day, the opening bell on Wall Street sounded like TCRI's death knell.
CRASH!
The stock collapsed at the open! There was no resistance, no hesitation, only hysterical flight. On the screen, the curve representing TCRI's stock price was a completely uncontrolled freefall, its sheer vertical descent breathtaking.
"Plunge! Faster! Keep falling!" In the Lane Capital trading floor, Emilia and over a dozen traders' fingers flew across multiple keyboards, leaving only blurs.
On the account management interface, the numbers representing profit jumped at a dizzying pace. Every refresh sent the figure surging upward, the blinding green almost overflowing the screen. Today's profit easily breached nine figures again and was climbing relentlessly!
"Panic selling! It's all panic selling! Consume it! Consume it all!"
"A rebound? Crush it!"
"Block Trade Channel! Get me in! Buy up every circulating share! Premium? No! Floor price! Sweep the market at floor-price!"
Clear, cold, and millisecond-precise commands spat from her mouth, forming an invisible financial garrote around TCRI's neck, accelerating its asphyxiation. Lane Capital's vast financial torrent, like a deep-sea shark smelling blood, was silently yet overwhelmingly sweeping up every available circulating share of TCRI at breakneck speed, capitalizing on the godsend of a complete market collapse and liquidity crunch.
The price per share was dirt-cheap, like picking up waste paper from a trash can. This lightning-fast capitalist hunt was astonishingly efficient.
While Wall Street's "elites" were still reeling from TCRI's consecutive catastrophic events and trying to figure out the identity of the "unknown hostile force," Lane Capital had already completed the most crucial part of the severance in the chaos.
The dust had settled.
——————————
Want to read ahead of schedule? Head over to my Patreon ——— patreon(.)com/PrimalDemon [remove the parentheses ( )]
There are 50+ advance chapters available for you to read!