The pirate contract established Phoenix Holdings as the premier solution for "impossible" problems. The inquiries started to trickle in, each more desperate and shadowy than the last. Mo Chen accepted only those that aligned with her new, cynical morality: she would target monsters, but only if the price was right.
But a pattern emerged in the data Silas compiled. Three separate, seemingly unrelated clients—a Nigerian oil magnate, a Eastern European tech oligarch, and the Southeast Asian government—had all been former Kraken clients. They had all defected to Phoenix after Kraken's fall.
And they had all suffered devastating, unexplained cyber-attacks within weeks of hiring her.
"It's a message," Silas grunted, pointing at the code analysis. "The signature is subtle, but it's there. It's the consortium. They're punishing anyone who does business with us."
Isolde was not just acknowledging her; she was actively containing her. She was drawing a line in the sand, declaring that the shadow world still had rules, and Phoenix Holdings was breaking them.
Mo Chen's response was not to strengthen her digital defenses. It was to go on the offensive in a way the consortium wouldn't expect.
She purchased a majority stake in a failing, rural newspaper in Kansas. A physical asset. Then, she used it to publish, in print and a deliberately primitive website, the full, unredacted client list from the Kraken files that implicated several key consortium figures.
The story was picked up by international media within hours. The fallout was immediate. Two senators resigned. A Swiss banker was arrested. The consortium was exposed, not in the dark web, but in the blinding light of day.
Mo Chen had burned their reputation. It was a weapon they had no defense against.