Chapter 186: don’t read would be revised
The twenty-minute clock had begun.
The declaration had struck like a bolt—unexpected, disruptive, and final.
Judge Wexler’s ruling would come not in a week, not in a month, but in twenty minutes.
A ruling on the most consequential corporate case in recent American history—perhaps global—would be decided in less time than it takes to board a plane. Shock rippled through the room like an electric current. Lawyers turned pale. Aides rushed to confer. And among the spectators—CEOs, bankers, diplomats, senators—chaos bloomed.
The financial elite were the first to stir, visibly shaken despite their tailored composure. The corner of the gallery they occupied, known to reporters as "The Velvet Pit," became a frenzy of hushed murmurs and jittery recalculations. Phones appeared. Whispers turned into low growls. Leaning into each other’s ears like traders on a floor, they began hedging bets. Some adjusted watches. Others tapped into secured lines. Market analysts glanced repeatedly at the sealed courtroom doors, as though expecting news to seep out from the marble.
They weren’t panicking. No. People like them never panicked. But they were repositioning—physically, emotionally, financially.
Because either way, there was money to be made.
If Wexler sided with Miss Usher and approved the full asset transfer to Saudi Arabia, it would open up a floodgate of new capital markets, debt restructuring, sovereign partnerships, and resource leverage. Global arbitrage, Middle Eastern diversification, defense sector spillovers. Oil money moving like jet fuel.
If he sided with Desmond and forced Blackwell Investments to go public—well, that was an IPO for the ages. Trillions in assets unlocked. Derivatives, futures, swaps, media licensing, data—every analyst in the building had done that math twice already. And each time, the number had more zeroes.
So no, they weren’t afraid. They were invested.
But not everyone in the room had the luxury of profiting from any outcome.