Dan Blackwood sat by the fireplace of the Blackwood mansion sitting room, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking softly with each rotation. His brow was furrowed as he stared into the flames, clearly troubled. Across from him, Hera Blackwood sat in a high-backed chair, her brows furrowed into a frown. Her hands were clasped and her legs, the right crossed upon the other.
"The stock price dropped another five percent this morning," Dan said finally, tossing the report onto the table. "And they're dropping again. Blackwood stock has been down for three days straight. We've stabilized dips like this before, but this…" He shook his head. "Something is obviously not right."
Hera picked up the papers and skimmed through them with sharp precision. "It's deliberate," she said. "Someone's pulling strings. First the supply chain hiccups, now this. It's too clean to be coincidence. We are being sabotaged."
