Chapter 12 - The BroadcastInside the boardroom, chaos reigned. The twelve members of the Vanguard board of directors, along with the acquisition team from the multinational conglomerate, were out of their seats, shouting over the blaring fire alarm.
At the head of the massive glass table stood Greg. He looked immaculate in a three-piece charcoal suit, his hair perfectly slicked back. But his face was red with fury. He was screaming into his phone, demanding building security shut the alarm off.
"It's a false alarm! Nobody panic!" Greg yelled over the din, waving his hands to keep the billionaire buyers from leaving the room. "Just a glitch in the smart-kitchen! Please, sit down! We have a contract to sign!"
Suddenly, the deafening alarm cut out.
The room fell into a heavy, ringing silence. The executives sighed in relief, murmuring among themselves as they took their seats. Greg forced a charming, brilliant smile, smoothing his tie.
"My apologies, ladies and gentlemen," Greg said smoothly. "As you know, Vanguard's systems are highly reactive to ensure maximum safety. Now, if we can direct our attention back to the screens, I'd like to finalize the—"
The massive, 100-inch 4K monitors lining the walls of the boardroom suddenly flickered.
Greg’s PowerPoint presentation on fourth-quarter projections vanished. In its place, a black screen appeared. Then, a stark white audio waveform began to pulse in the center of the monitors.
A voice boomed from the state-of-the-art surround sound speakers. It wasn't Owen's voice. It was Greg's.
“The cartel wants the laundering pipeline expanded by Q3. Tell them Vanguard’s new encryption protocol will hide the transactions completely. No IRS flags. No federal oversight.”
A collective gasp echoed through the boardroom. The head of the acquisition team, a stern-faced woman in her sixties, dropped her pen.
Greg’s face drained of all color. "Turn that off!" he screamed, lunging for the master remote on the table. He smashed the power button, but nothing happened. The system was locked.
Another voice answered Greg on the recording. It was a man with a heavy accent. “And what about the wife? Sarah Bell is asking questions about the offshore accounts.”
“Handle her,” Greg’s recorded voice replied, cold and unfeeling. “Make it look like a tragic accident. I’ll take care of Owen.”
Pandemonium erupted. Board members shoved their chairs back, horrified. The buyers began frantically dialing their legal teams on their cell phones.
"It's a deepfake!" Greg shrieked, his polished facade shattering completely. "It's AI-generated! Owen Bell is a disgruntled lunatic trying to sabotage this company!"
The heavy oak doors of the boardroom suddenly burst open.
May you like
Owen stepped into the room, flanked by Marcus, whose hand hovered dangerously close to his concealed weapon.
"It's not a deepfake, Greg," Owen said, his voice carrying perfectly across the silent, stunned room. "And I'm not here to sabotage the company. I'm here to burn you to the ground."
Related Stories
