The Extra's Rise - Chapter 720

720: Digital Gold (2) 720: Digital Gold (2) Fourteen hours after launch night, Avalon was still rinsed in the bright, sleepless clarity of new infrastructure.

The rails held.

No anomalous forks.

No drift in consensus.

Adoption curves on the wall display kept steepening in clean, well-behaved mathematics.

Payrolls, vendor contracts, ministry disbursements-value moved as if it had been waiting years to take this route.

Dr.

Chen had sent her last overnight note at 04:12: stability verified across all Aetherite clusters; error budgets untouched; latency falling as routing tables warmed.

On the western link, Jin and Kali’s updates came in short, economical bursts-two houses escalating from payroll-only to full vendor integration; a consortium chair shelving a “prudence memo” after the Imperial directive crossed his desk.

They didn’t celebrate.

They wrote habit.

At 08:03, Helena Voss called.

Her projection assembled above my desk with the crispness money buys, and for an instant it was the Helena from yesterday-silver hair cut like a blade, steel-gray eyes that had measured and won a hundred quiet wars.

Then the image finished resolving, and the differences arrived.

Confidence had been replaced by control performed at the edge of failure.

Her voice carried a tremor only someone used to perfect control would notice.

The awards behind her were still squared to the millimeter, but other markers were wrong: two glass pedestals stood empty, a painting had vanished from the north wall, and a collector’s clock-once the punctilious heartbeat of her office-was gone.

Liquidation, not redecorating.

“Mr.

Nightingale,” she said, without preamble or pleasantries.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot.” I leaned back in the chair and let patience do what power often fails to-make space.

“I’m always willing to discuss reasonable arrangements, Guild Master Voss.” The emphasis landed.

A flicker crossed her face-the tiny recoil of a title suddenly heavy.

She had worn “Guild Master” like armor for decades.

Today it sounded like a verdict.

“I may have… overreacted to your enhancements,” she said carefully, choosing each word as if the wrong one might set off an explosive.

“Upon reflection, there is certainly room for improved Imperial financial infrastructure.” “How generous.” If she heard the dry edge in my tone, she ignored it with the survival discipline of a veteran.

Pride, for the moment, was a luxury she could not afford.

“In fact,” Helena continued, leaning forward an exact centimeter as if proximity could make the future kinder, “I think there are opportunities for cooperation.

Auristrade’s experience in international finance, regulatory frameworks, institutional relationships… We could provide valuable support for global adoption.” Of course she could.

Under yesterday’s rules, she would have dictated terms while calling it cooperation.

Under today’s rules, she was selling the expertise that had just failed to stop us.

“What sort of cooperation did you have in mind?” I asked.

I already knew the answer.

I wanted to hear the shape of it when spoken through a mouth running out of exits.

“Full partnership,” she said-too fast, the word outracing the facade.

“Auristrade would serve as primary institutional sponsor for your enhanced rails.

Our endorsement would remove residual regulatory friction, your technology would modernize our service stack.

Think of it as… a merger of equals.” The phrase sat between us like a polite fiction at a hostile dinner.

In other years, other markets, she could have made a case for parity by sheer momentum.

Today, “equals” meant “the one with policy and Aetherite” and “the one asking not to drown.” “I’m flattered,” I said, and let a note of what might have been genuine consideration color the air.

“I am curious about timing.

Yesterday you indicated institutional pressure would blunt adoption.

What changed so dramatically in fourteen hours?” Helena’s micro-expressions-those tiny betrayals her mask usually swallowed-flared and fought to vanish.

She was calculating what I knew, what I guessed, and whether lying would make anything better.

“Sometimes… circumstances evolve,” she said.

“New information becomes available.

Priorities shift as conditions change.” “New information,” I echoed, and lifted a hand.

The office filled with light.

Not theatrics.

Evidence.

Overlays of account flows and authorization logs.

Time-stamped security footage.

Encrypted messages decrypted and authenticated.

Five years of wagers that began as high-stakes sport for a woman with nerves of platinum, then metastasized: commodities, merger outcomes, currency swings, weather derivatives, local elections.

A map of risk-seeking that widened, then spiked.

The amounts escalated sharply eighteen months ago, then steeper still in the last six.

“Property development results,” I said evenly.

“Merger approvals.

Agricultural yield predictions tied to flood models.

I admire the range.” Her hands were level on the desk, but the projection betrayed a tremor at the knuckles.

“Those are private transactions-” “Executed through Auristrade’s pipes,” I said, not raising my voice.

“Placed with timing and size that correlate to privileged information available only to a Guild Master.

Clever.

Profitable, sometimes.

Until the numbers got big enough for my people to flag the pattern.” She swallowed.

Professionals do not often experience being seen.

It never gets easier when it happens.

“The fascinating part is not the bets,” I continued mildly, and new panes stepped forward.

“It’s the financing.

Underperformance in discretionary funds hidden under market noise.

High-value assets quietly liquidated.

A gap here, plugged there.

And then the early-morning card access-restricted accounts during non-business hours.” “Reika?” she asked, because of course she knew who would have done this kind of work.

“Reika,” I confirmed.

“Her analysts are tidy when they care.

Transaction chains, intercepts, video.

It’s not a narrative.

It’s a ledger.” Helena’s mask fractured.

Not theatrically; she didn’t sob or plead.

It was the more brutal break of someone realizing that the private margin for error she had always relied on had reached zero.

She had bet, lost, and then bet against the loss-with other people’s money-hoping to outrun arithmetic.

There is a word for that, and it is not “strategy.” She exhaled, a sound too small for the room.

“What do you want?” “Auristrade,” I said.

No flourish.

No savoring.

Just the requirement.

“All assets, personnel, and operational control transferred to Ouroboros.” She blinked once.

“That’s everything I built.” “Funded,” I said, “with embezzled resources when the bets turned.

You did build a formidable edifice.

I’m not denying that.

But the foundation has been cracked for eighteen months, and you’ve been wallpapering.” “And in exchange?” she asked.

The voice was paper-dry.

“In exchange,” I said, “your private activities remain private.

The finance crimes commission does not receive a gift basket with your signature on it.

The press does not learn that Auristrade’s Guild Master turned her guild into a piggy bank to chase volatility.

You keep your freedom.

You keep-within reason-your dignity.” Her gaze slid past me and fixed on a point beyond the projection, the way people look at nothing when they are looking at everything.

The silence expanded.

I let it.

Decisions of this size are not helped by commentary.

“If I refuse?” she said at last, though the grammar of the question betrayed understanding.

She didn’t ask what I could do.

She asked for the timetable of pain.

“Then tomorrow morning,” I said, “the Imperial Financial Crimes Commission receives a sealed packet containing five years of documented violations.

The packet is mirrored to the major bureaus and the leading financial desks.

Regulatory freezes follow.

Clients run.

Staff bleed out to competitors.

A receivership judge sells me your infrastructure at a discount in six months.

You get court dates, then prison, then a footnote.” I didn’t add the part that mattered most to me: the collateral damage to ordinary people whose salaries and invoices would be caught behind frozen accounts.

She would hear it anyway.

She had spent her life mastering the consequences of money.

“You’d still acquire it,” she said quietly.

“I would,” I said.

“And I would hate the route.” We let the next silence be shorter.

“How long do I have?” she asked.

“You called fourteen hours after launch,” I said, and softened my tone a degree.

“You already decided when you placed that short against your own guild last week.

This is just the part where you choose whether the history reads as ‘merger’ or ‘implosion.'” A humorless ghost of a smile flickered and died.

“Terms?” I tipped a new document set into the space between us.

Elias had drafted three contingencies months ago; this matched the one labeled COURTEOUS ENDING.

“Full asset transfer to Ouroboros,” I said.

“Continuity guarantees for staff and clients.

A personal settlement commensurate with your tenure and the value of the transition.

An advisory title if you want it and can behave.

We settle your gambling obligations from guild reserves on the way out-cleanly, quietly.

The public narrative is voluntary integration to modernize services under Imperial standards.” She read.

Not all of it-no one reads all of a document like that on the first pass-but enough to see there was no trap besides the obvious one: loss.

When she reached the clause about the personal settlement being contingent on demonstrated abstention and treatment, one eyebrow lifted by a degree.

“Your… recommendations?” she said.

“I recommend you invest some of your settlement in addressing the thing that almost ended you,” I said.

“Privately.

Permanently.” For the first time since the call began, emotion moved across her face unarmored.

Not gratitude.

Not quite.

Something closer to relief that there was still a future in which she did not end as a cautionary spectacle.

“I’ll need to review with my advisors,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“We’re not performing theater.” I slid the signature pane forward.

“The link is live when you are.” The projection vanished.

I let the office be quiet.

The wall display kept writing its smooth, upward lines.

Across the city, the Empire did what empires do at midmorning-moved paper, drank coffee, argued policy.

In the lab five floors below, the Aetherite arrays breathed their silent, indigo breath.

Luna stirred, a brush of thought against mine.

‘You enjoy this less than you thought you would.’ ‘There’s no joy in finding rot,’ I answered.

‘Only relief when it doesn’t take the building with it.’ Thirty-three minutes later, the comms console chimed.

The signature arrived with a single-line message: Effective immediately.

Thank you for your discretion.

It is a strange thing, watching a Great Guild change owners with fewer fireworks than a mediocre product launch.

No trumpets.

No parades.

Just the quiet mechanics of consequence.

The second chime came while the receipt was still collapsing.

Rose appeared, hair an exhausted halo, eyes alight with the particular wakefulness that comes from standing next to a shifting epoch.

“Arthur, market reaction is obscene,” she said without preface.

“Auristrade’s ‘voluntary integration’ notice set off a stampede.

Institutions that were waiting for ‘prudence’ memos are now sending ‘how fast can we onboard’ memos.

Treasury desks are tripping over themselves to say we were always supportive.” “And the other guilds?” “Panic, masked as ’emergency conferences.'” She scanned something off-screen.

“All ten.

Some are playing lawyer, some are playing soldier.

Expect a coalition letter within twenty-four hours asking for ‘structured dialogue around modernization’-which translates to ‘find our safe exit’-and a smaller, nastier group trying to force a public confrontation before we finish digesting Auristrade.” “Names?” “Verrian Steel.

Skygate.

Possibly the Alchemists-depends how they read the Treasury notice.” Rose’s mouth tilted.

“They finally understand you’re not disrupting their businesses.

You’re changing the frame.” “Good,” I said.

“Prep for both tracks.

For the talkers: map their services onto our rails and give them three respectable ways to save face.

For the fighters: assume they’ll try to hit public confidence or physical infrastructure.

Coordinate with Jin and Kali-tighten western redundancies, raise our incident thresholds, run the sabotage playbook.

Reika handles the comms grid and the counter-narrative.” “Already moving,” Rose said.

“Chen’s team can take two more big integrations this week without touching the error budget.

After that we stagger.

Also-legal wants a word about antitrust optics in three days.

We should be the ones to ask the question first.” “We’ll host the question,” I agreed.

“Preferably in front of the Council, with Amelia in the first row.” Rose’s smile sharpened.

“Two guilds in.

Ten to go.” “Don’t count,” I said.

“Just keep the rails clean.” When the line closed, I stood at the window and let Avalon’s geometry steady my eyes.

Towers.

Transit veins.

A river smudged by sun.

In a thousand rooms, people were doing arithmetic about their own lives-rent, payroll, a supplier invoice, a school fee-the ordinary sums that make a civilization run.

They would not know the guild that used to skim a fee had been absorbed by a machine that took its payment primarily in speed and certainty.

They would only know the money arrived faster, the paperwork hurt less, and the rumor that the Empire’s new spine had teeth was true in the way that mattered: it bit anything that slowed it down.

‘Almost too easy,’ Luna murmured, echoing a thought I hadn’t quite let form.

‘Helena compromised herself long before we met her,’ I said.

‘We didn’t win a duel.

We found a crack and chose not to let the building collapse.’ She considered that, then let silence be consent.

I looked away from the city and back to the map of flows.

New lines had appeared since the call began-two ministries, another noble house, an industrial cooperative.

They lit in sequence and held steady.

The opening move had been to turn on gravity.

The second had been to take the mountain the old paths circled.

The rest would not be easy.

With desperation comes coordination, and the remaining guilds were not in the habit of losing.

I closed the window display and summoned the next set of briefs.

The real test wasn’t whether we could win.

It was whether we could win without breaking what we were trying to serve.