Page 94 of Only the Devil
His pompous nonsense slices through the terror and my brain clicks into work mode. Does he have any idea how foolish he sounds? First, many investment houses already use predictive tools. Second, no one builds a foolproof model.
“And while I know Ms. Daisy is a beauty, you’re going to want to tear your eyes away from her and feast on the screen.”
Again — barf.
I take one of the three empty seats on stage, beside the man who introduced Sterling. The crowd resolves into familiar figures: the blonde I met, a dark-skinned man near the door — both KOAN. I’m not alone.
While Sterling preens, I steady myself by remembering KOAN’s plan — the one we rehearsed. Quinn and her team are monitoring outgoing calls and texts from Sterling’s company lines. They’ll check access logs on the portal immediately after the presentation. Should Sterling accuse me of altering the slides or give us reason to question my safety, they have an extraction plan.
At least three employees prepared his presentation, and it’s been on the company server for days. He won’t know who changed it — only that someone connected dots and painted a picture that demands investigation.
Sterling Financial’s logo fills the screen. Sterling presses the enter button on the laptop at the podium. The video begins.
First slide: the firm’s name. Second frame: “Who Are We?” Third: “Why Should You Listen to Us?”
Then: “The Mensa Fund.”
Text flashes and enlarges for emphasis.
“Guaranteed high returns on crypto trading.”
Either a change in the narrator’s voice or the unexpected words on the screen alerts Sterling that something is wrong.
“$300 million lost.”
His frantic eyes meet mine. I sit frozen, immovable, like a crashed app.
“Used new funds to cover losses…until collapse.”
“No investigation.”
Sterling lunges at the laptop, pressing buttons, but nothing he does will stop it. We made sure of that.
“Why?”
Question marks bloom across the slide.
A photograph of Alvin Reed appears.
“This man led efforts to organize a class-action lawsuit.”
Next frame: Quinn’s graphic. “DEAD.”
Jocelyn Faribault’s photo — “Sterling Financial Comptroller.”
“DEAD.”
Ayesha Khanna’s photo — “Sterling Financial CFO, Singapore.”
“DEAD.”
“Turn it off!” Sterling shouts, looking to the back of the auditorium like it’s a movie theater.
The projected image warps and shudders.
“You!” Sterling screams, pointing at me. He charges forward, enraged.
Chapter 31
