The "brokers" didn't wait long.
Twenty-four hours after Dustin walked out of the hotel, the pressure began. It wasn't a formal legal notice. It was a series of "leaks"—anonymous posts on tech forums, a hushed article in a secondary financial daily questioning PingMe's IP integrity, and a surge of bot activity on social media.
The "uncertainty" they promised had arrived.
Dustin sat in his office, his phone buzzing incessantly. He didn't pick up. He was looking at a small, obsidian-black device on his desk. It looked like a high-end paperweight, but it was pulsing with a faint, rhythmic blue light.
His private line rang. It was PK.
"They're biting," Dustin said, his voice tight. "The narrative is starting to slip. My investors are calling. They want to know why we aren't issuing a denial."
"Don't deny it," PK's voice came through, calm as a deep well. "A denial is a defensive move. It admits there is a fight. We aren't fighting, Dustin. We're observing."
"They just sent a second invite," Dustin continued. "Same place. They said the price just went up to fifteen crores 'for the trouble.' They think they have me cornered."
"Go," PK said. "But this time, make the problem bigger."
Dustin paused. "Bigger? PK, the fire is already spreading."
"Then pour gasoline on it," PK replied. "Force them to claim more than they can prove. Force them to name names. The more they lie, the deeper the grave they dig. And Dustin... keep the 'paperweight' in your pocket."
The Second Meeting
The lounge was the same, but the atmosphere had curdled. The "smiling man" wasn't smiling anymore. He looked like a predator who had finally caught its scent.
"Fifteen crores, Mr. Dustin," the lead man said, tapping a pen against the glass table. "And we want a seat on the board. Your silence yesterday cost us time. Time is expensive."
Dustin looked at them, appearing frazzled, his collar slightly loose—exactly as PK had coached him. "You're destroying my reputation. People are talking. If I pay you, how do I know this ends? Who is really behind this? Is it Leonard?"
The name Leonard hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature.
The quiet watcher stiffened. The lead man let out a short, sharp laugh. "Names don't matter. What matters is that we have the power to turn PingMe into a ghost story by Monday morning. Pay the fifteen, sign the transfer, and the 'rumors' vanish. Refuse... and we make sure no VC ever touches you again."
"So you're saying," Dustin leaned in, his voice trembling—perhaps with fear, perhaps with something else—"that you have the power to manipulate the entire market? That you've already coordinated this attack with your 'friends' in the press?"
"Business is about coordination," the man sneered, leaning in close. "We own the narrative. You're just a kid with an app. Now, sign the damn papers."
Dustin suddenly straightened. The "frazzled" look evaporated instantly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black device.
The blue light was now a steady, burning crimson.
"You're right," Dustin said, his voice dropping an octave into a cold, predatory calm. "Business is about coordination. And I've coordinated this entire conversation with a live cloud-server."
The men froze.
Dustin tapped a command on his phone. A speaker in the room—hidden or perhaps the device itself—played back the last thirty seconds in crystal-clear high fidelity.
"...We own the narrative... we've already coordinated this attack... Pay the fifteen..."
"That's extortion, conspiracy to commit fraud, and market manipulation," Dustin said, standing up. He looked at the quiet watcher, who was now pale. "I didn't just record you. I made the problem 'bigger.' This didn't just go to my lawyer. It went to a timestamped, encrypted vault that releases to the SEBI and the Press Bureau if I don't enter a safety code every six hours."
He leaned over the table, looming over the lead man.
"You wanted to talk about the price of silence?" Dustin whispered. "The price just changed. You're going to call off your dogs. You're going to issue a public retraction of every 'leak' you've made. And then... you're going to tell me exactly what Leonard promised you."
The room was deathly silent. The hunter had become the trophy.
"You have ten minutes," Dustin said, checking his watch. "Before the first 'mistake' becomes a felony."