"Making him vomit on the carpet is more satisfying than sending him to jail."
Wall Street, New York — Thursday morning, the busiest day in finance.
Skyscrapers loomed like forests, the air thick with anxiety and the scent of money. Elena stepped into the Glorious Capital Building in a silver pair of heels and an Armani suit she had purchased a few days earlier in Soho using cryptocurrency.
It was the very building where she had failed her fourth and final job interview before she died.
Inside the elevator, she was surrounded by sharply dressed men and aloof female assistants. They swiped their access cards, whispered into their phones, their eyes heavy with stock charts and quarterly reports. No one noticed the name on her badge: Evelyn Clay.
That was her first layer of disguise.
Glorious Capital was one of Wall Street's largest short-selling firms. Its chairman, Derek Watson, was known as the "Financial Surgeon," a man who once halved the value of a unicorn startup with a single PowerPoint presentation. In one interview, he'd said:
"The capital market has no use for sympathy, only efficiency. Liquidation is mercy."
Elena remembered him well. The company she worked for before her death had been shorted by him—and the very set of "suspicious data reports" used to justify it had been written by her.
Later, the data was tampered with. She was fired. Labeled as someone who "misled the market."
Her first death began with his nod of approval.
Today, she was going to make him regurgitate his beliefs—right at his own conference table.
09:35 AM — Glorious Capital Boardroom
Watson stood before a projection screen, presenting to over twenty board members about their next target: a company developing AI emotional simulation technology. His PowerPoint was sharp and commanding, filled with crisp charts and ruthless numbers.
Just as he began to present a set of data showing "faked user engagement," the door burst open.
"Pardon the interruption, everyone—there's a problem with the data in your report."
Everyone turned to see a woman with an overwhelming presence stride into the room, followed by a pale-faced young intern—it was he who had secretly brought her into the meeting.
Watson frowned. "Who are you?"
"I'm the original algorithm model developer from the company in your report."
She walked up to the conference table, opened her MacBook, and connected it to the projector.
Within three seconds, the chart Watson had been presenting was replaced by a dark interface:
A timeline of real data tracebacks.
She typed a few lines of code. The interface activated, revealing a crypto wallet address at the center of the screen. As the data updated in real time, it displayed twenty consecutive internal transfers with exact timestamps and geolocation data.
"The so-called 'user data fraud' you referenced," she said, "was actually orchestrated by your own data consulting team. After my death, they split and sold my original model, then recirculated it into the market to create a reverse hedge."
She looked up, her voice calm and clear.
"I've already sent all this evidence to the SEC and Bloomberg. You have seven minutes to decide which part of your reputation you want to save."
Silence fell over the boardroom.
Watson looked at her, and for the first time, his gaze wavered. He clearly understood—what she had wasn't just truth, but the power to deliver it with surgical precision.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Elena walked to the table, leaned in close, and said:
"I don't want compensation. I don't need a media apology. I just want to see your knees give out in front of the report you thought would win you the game."
The next second, she swiped her finger across the trackpad, and a new image popped up on the screen— A confidential memorandum of cooperation between Glorious Capital and five shell companies, complete with Watson's signature on the last page.
"If you don't spill it now, I'll make sure this stays on the front page of the Wall Street Journal for three days straight."
Watson tried to stand and refute her, but all he managed to say was:
"You… you're that janit—?"
Elena smiled, took a step back, and tapped the delayed broadcast button.
"You finally recognize me."
Ten minutes later, the meeting was over. The board members dispersed, their expressions varied—some made phone calls, others shut their laptops.
Watson remained in his seat, drenched in sweat. He had just received an internal alert from the risk control department: the market was about to launch a short-selling counterstrike against Glorious Capital.
Only then did he realize—she hadn't just sabotaged his presentation. Over the past 48 hours, she had quietly guided multiple hedge funds into the same direction, turning his capital pool into a liquidity trap.
He was the "Wolf of Wall Street,"
but she was the hunter lurking in the forest of data.
Before leaving the building, Elena stepped into the restroom, took off her heels, and changed into sneakers. She looked into the mirror and saw a completely new face.
Not the face of an "avenger," nor that of a "tech monster."
But the kind of face that had already died once, and learned— how to deliver the most humiliating blow at the opponent's most glorious moment.
She opened her phone and received a message from an anonymous account:
"GhostNet branch beta successfully connected to the Nasdaq behavioral prediction model."
She smiled.
The game had just begun.