1 month later.
Black site.
Kassim could be seen pacing anxiously in his room, displaying visible signs of panic as he awaited someone's arrival.
KNOCK KNOCK
Upon hearing a knock at the door, Kassim swiftly moved to his chair, straightened his attire, cleared his throat, and then called out, "Come in."
After obtaining permission to enter, Patric, the project manager, nervously entered the room and said, "You called for me, sir?'"
"Yes, I summoned you because there is only one month left from the four-month extension you requested to complete the program development. Is it going well? Are you on schedule?" Kassim fired two questions in quick succession, causing Patrick to tense up with each query directed at him.
"Sir, you know..." Patrick began, attempting to respond, but before he could finish his sentence, Kassim interrupted him, asking, "It's not ready yet, is it?"
"Unfortunately, not yet, sir," Patrick answered, his head lowered in embarrassment and fear as he averted his gaze towards the floor.
"Is there any possibility of completing it within the remaining month?" Kassim asked, his voice betraying his struggle to contain his anger, as if he were holding himself back from harming the man until he received an answer to this question.
"It's almost impossible," Patrick replied, fully accepting his fate.
"Get out and await the punishment to be determined for you and your team!" Kassim shouted, his anger no longer under control.
As Patrick hurried towards the door, Kassim threw a nameplate that bore his name, hitting Patrick in the back of his head just before he closed the door. "AGHHHH" causing Patrick to cry out in pain, as he clutched his now swelling back head, as beads of sweat continued forming on his forehead.
"Shit," Kassim muttered to himself after he was left alone in his office.
Kassim's hand rested on the table, his finger tapping continuously as he deliberated on the course of action to take. Should he wait until next month, hoping for a miracle that would allow them to complete the program? Or should he make the difficult decision to call his superior and inform him of the impossibility of the task, suggesting they proceed with their attack on the Rothschilds? The weight of the decision hung heavily on his shoulders as he considered the consequences of each choice.
After pondering for more than five minutes, Kassim reached into his pocket and retrieved a burner phone. He dialed the number of his superior, making the difficult decision to inform them that they should move forward with their plans.
By doing so, he hoped to mitigate the potential punishment he would face for not completing the program within the requested extension of the four-month period. He pressed the call button and brought the phone to his ear, ready to deliver the news.
"What is it?" came the voice on the other end as soon as the call was answered.
"It's about the program research team," Kassim said, trying to maintain a respectful tone.
"Go on and say it, we don't have all day," the voice on the other side impatiently urged Kassim to continue speaking.
"Today I asked the project head about the expected completion timeline, but it appears that meeting your deadline is impossible. So, to avoid wasting your time in futile waiting, I suggest that you proceed with the plan without waiting for the program, sir," Kassim said, his voice cracking as he reached the last words, displaying his nervousness.
"Okay," the voice on the other end said, and then the call ended abruptly without any further words.
"I'm screwed," Kassim muttered under his breath, realizing that once their plans were complete, they would come after him and his team.
"At least we won't die," Kassim said with a hint of relief. He realized that by informing them early, he had managed to escape the potential consequences of waiting until the given timeline was over, which would have resulted in four months of unnecessary delay. Making the consequences much heavier.
...….
Somewhere in America.
A man wearing a displeased expression placed the phone back on the table.
"What's the problem, George?" a voice asked, causing him to lift his head and gaze at the individuals seated along the sides of the long table, engaged in a meeting.
"It was Kassim, father," George answered.
"Is it good news?" Aubrey, the man sitting at the head of the table, asked after receiving the answer.
"No, Father, it's not. He informed us that it is better that we move on and not waste our time waiting for them to complete the program, as they are still stuck in the same place," George replied.
"Looks like your side is not doing well either," Jason remarked with a smile on his face upon hearing George's answer.
"Looks like forcing the secretary of defense to take the program from them was pointless. It would have been better if we had simply kidnapped him and made him personally upgrade the program," Aubrey intervened upon seeing George's expression in response to Jason's comment.
"But that would have drawn too much attention if he had suddenly disappeared right after releasing the program. That's why we were compelled to pursue this course of action," George replied to his father's remark.
"I know that, and I remember your concerns about the potential risks involved. However, considering the program's significance and the impact it had on our plans, I can't help but think that kidnapping him would have been a more strategic move. We could have used the media to tarnish his reputation and divert public attention until the situation normalized. Having him in our custody would have eliminated the current problem we're facing," Aubrey responded to George's statement.
"Unfortunately, it seems that we have no other choice but to proceed with the plan without relying on the program," Jason interjected, acknowledging the reality of the situation.
Aubrey said, addressing the board members in the office, all of whom were responsible for overseeing different black sites. "Inform the planning teams that they have one week to finalize the revised plan. We will initiate our attack immediately one week after that. Is that clear to everyone?"
"Yes," all the board members, including George, replied in unison, signaling their understanding and agreement with the timeline for the upcoming attack.
"Okay, let's conclude the meeting for today," Aubrey announced, prompting the board members to rise from their seats and begin exiting the board meeting room.
After everyone had left the room, leaving only George and his father Aubrey, the latter spoke up. "You knew that the board members are going to use this against you, right?"
"Yes," George answered. "Then why did you react that way when Jason spoke?" Aubrey asked
"I just wanted to put him back in his place. His black site failed to accomplish anything even after they received the copies of my research. He tried to shape it as if I'm the only one at fault," George answered confidently, showing no concern for his father's remarks.
Seeing his reaction, Aubrey smiled with an expression of pride on his face. He placed his hands on his son's shoulders and began speaking. "Good. That's how you're supposed to be. The board members will always be looking for ways to gain leverage against you and advance their own agendas. Maintaining this confidence is essential."
"Yes, Father," George replied with a smile on his face, feeling quite satisfied to receive a compliment from his father every now and then.
"Yes, always bear in mind that you are the future head of the Morgan family. It is crucial for you to have complete control over those who work under you," Aubrey emphasized. "Do you grasp the implications of what I'm saying?"
"Yes, Father. I will ensure that Kassim and his team are punished heavily so that they refrain from making empty promises in the future," George replied, prompting his father's smile to grow wider.
"Good, but don't take it too far," Aubrey said, offering a word of caution.
"Yes, Father," George replied, maintaining the smile on his face.
...…
Two weeks later.
John Harrison entered his workplace, TPG Capital, with an air of nervousness enveloping him.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he glanced around the bustling trading floor.
Colleagues hurriedly passed by, eyes focused on multiple screens displaying stock prices, charts, and market data. It was a typical Monday morning, but today was different for John.
As he made his way to his desk, John forced himself to greet his colleagues with a shaky smile. "Morning, Sharon," he muttered, wiping his clammy hands on his pants.
Sharon, hearing John's nervous greeting, raised an eyebrow but responded with a curt nod before diving back into her work.
With trembling hands, John logged into his workstation, his heart pounding in his chest.
As the clock ticked closer to the opening bell, John's anxiety intensified. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any signs of suspicion.
The once-familiar environment now felt suffocating, the weight of his actions bearing down on him.
With trembling fingers, John entered a series of complex commands into the trading program. He carefully specified the timing, ensuring the trades would be initiated at the designated time.
After inputting all the orders, he hesitated for a moment as his finger hovered over the final button. With a deep breath, he pressed ENTER.
Officially firing the first shot in the attack against the Rothschilds.
