The exam room was in the West Wing of the Business School, a place usually reserved for visiting dignitaries and board etings. It slled of lemon polish and anxiety.
There were only five other candidates. All of them were in their thirties or forties—seasoned executives looking for a credential bump. They wore tailored suits and expensive watches, tapping away on Blackberries or reviewing notes on iPads.
When I walked in, wearing my lucky charcoal sweater and jeans, the room went silent.
"Delivery is in the lobby," one of them, a guy with graying temples, said dismissively.
"I’m not delivery," I said, taking the empty seat at the front. "I’m sitting for the exam."
A few chuckles rippled through the room.
"Kid," the guy said, "this is the Executive MBA qualifier. You need ten years of managent experience just to apply."
"I got a waiver," I said, pulling out my pens.
Before he could respond, the door opened. Dean Vance walked in. She wasn’t wearing her usual suit; she was in a black dress that looked like armor. She carried a stack of sealed packets.
"Good morning," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Phones off. Smartwatches in the bin. You have four hours. The passing score is 85%. Anything less, and we thank you for your application fee."
She walked down the aisle, placing a packet on each desk. When she reached , she paused. Her eyes were unreadable, but I saw the slight tension in her jaw.
"Good luck, Mr. Hart," she said softly.
"Thank you, Dean Vance."
She moved on. The gray-haired guy looked at , then at Vance, his eyes widening. He shut up.
"Begin."
The exam was a beast.
It wasn’t just multiple choice. It was case studies. Financial modeling. Crisis managent scenarios.
Question 14: A pharmaceutical company faces a class-action lawsuit regarding a recalled drug. Stock has dropped 40%. You have $50M in liquidity. Do you settle, fight, or restructure? Justify your answer using Ga Theory.
I closed my eyes. The System humd.
[Intelligence Boost: Active]
[Recall: Ga Theory / Prisoner’s Dilemma]
[Recall: Sofia’s strategy during the OmniCorp rger]
I started writing. I didn’t just use the textbook answers. I used what I had seen. I used the ruthlessness of Sofia, the calculated precision of Elena, the street-smart survival instincts of the Inner Circle.
I wrote about leverage. About controlling the narrative. About sacrificing pawns to save the king.
Hours blurred. My hand cramped. The other candidates were sweating, loosening ties, sighing loudly.
I kept writing.
When Vance called "Ti," I was the last one typing. I hit Submit on the digital portion and closed the essay booklet.
I looked up. Vance was watching from the front of the room. She gave a barely perceptible nod.
I stood up, my legs shaky. I felt like I had run a marathon.
"Mr. Hart," the gray-haired guy said as we filed out. He looked wrecked. "That section on derivatives... brutal, right?"
"It was tricky," I admitted.
"You... you seed to breeze through it." He hesitated. "Who do you work for, anyway?"
I looked at him. "Hart Consulting."
I walked out the door.
The hallway was empty, except for one man leaning against a pillar.
He was average height, wearing a beige trench coat that looked like a cliché until you saw his eyes. They were cold, dead, and observant. He was holding a newspaper, but he wasn’t reading it.
Varga.
The System didn’t need to tell . I knew.
[Threat Detected: Varga (The PI)]
[Status: Watching]
[Objective: Intimidation]
I didn’t walk past him. I stopped.
"Enjoying the view?" I asked.
Varga folded his newspaper. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Just admiring the architecture, Mr. Hart. Impressive school. Expensive, though. Hard for a truck driver’s son to afford without... help."
He let the implication hang in the air.
"My financial aid is in order," I said.
"Is it?" He took a step closer. "I saw a very interesting bank transfer this morning. Fifty grand. From a certain CEO."
"It was a forgery," I said, my voice steady. "And I burned it."
Varga chuckled. "You burned a copy. Digital footprints are harder to erase, kid. And the Ethics Committee loves digital footprints."
He reached into his pocket. I tensed, ready for anything.
He pulled out a business card and tucked it into my sweater pocket.
"Mr. Thorne is a reasonable man," Varga said. "He doesn’t want to ruin a bright young man’s future. He just wants you to... recuse yourself. Step down from the Sterling Committee. Admit you’re overwheld. Do that, and the bank transfer disappears."
"And if I don’t?"
"Then by Monday morning, every donor, every board mber, and every student on this campus will know you’re a kept boy laundering money for Sofia Aldridge."
He patted my shoulder. "Think about it. You have 24 hours."
He walked away, his footsteps echoing in the hall.
I stood there, watching him go. My blood was boiling. Not with fear. With rage.
He thought he had cornered. He thought I was just a student playing dress-up.
He didn’t know I had a hacker who could trace a digital footprint back to the source.
I pulled out my phone and called Nia.
"Did you get it?" I asked.
"Got it," Nia’s voice crackled in my ear. "I traced the Bluetooth signal from his phone while you were talking. I have his device ID. I’m cloning his cloud backups right now."
"Good," I said. "Find everything. Who hired him. How much he was paid. And where he keeps the original forgery file."
"Jake," Nia said, sounding hesitant. "This guy is ex-FBI. If he catches us..."
"He won’t," I said. "Because he’s not looking at us. He’s looking at Sofia. He thinks I’m just the pawn."
I looked at the business card Varga had given . Varga Investigations. Discretion Guaranteed.
"Nia," I said. "I don’t just want the file. I want his entire client list. I want to know every dirty secret he’s keeping for Thorne."
"You want to blackmail the blackmailer?"
"No," I said, walking toward the exit. "I want to nuke him."
[Mission Updated: The Counter-Strike]
[Objective: Expose Varga / Neutralize Thorne’s Leverage]
[Asset: Nia (The Intel)]
[Risk: Extre]
I walked out into the sunlight. Ethan and Darius were waiting on the steps.
"How’d it go?" Ethan asked.
"The exam?" I shrugged. "I passed."
"And the other thing?" Darius asked, looking around for threats.
"The other thing," I said, crumpling Varga’s card in my hand, "is about to get very interesting."
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