Emails are pinging and my entire staff is frantically shuffling around the building. The phones have been ringing off the hook, non-stop. I answer the one on my desk.

"Hello, Drake speaking."

"Mr. Carlton, it's Michael from Capital Bank. I have some difficult news. I'm calling to inform you that we are withdrawing financing for all normal operations."

"Wait, you don't need to do that."

"I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable. It's a unanimous and final decision."

"I can explain, I—" I begin to say, but it's useless. The banker on the other end of the call hangs up and ends the conversation. The finality of it is deafening.

Just fucking great.

In the last 24 hours, the media backlash has been a difficult pill to swallow. I'm being swarmed and blindsided from every fucking angle. And if I'm honest, sometimes I feel like I'm downright choking. I'm sitting in my office as my staff crowds around the large television mounted on the wall.

We're all hanging on its every word, listening to the news reporter.

"The so-called 'Shark of Wall Street' is creating a national frenzy. In a move highlighting the arrogance, degradation, and downright corruption of Wall Street's elite, sources have revealed that CEO Drake 'The Shark' Carlton, and CEO Sloane Hardman of Hard Times have been engaged in a bizarre and taboo sex ring with business newcomer, Natalie Vanderhill. It remains to be seen how a series of corruption charges will derail the careers of all three individuals, as well as affect a slew of private investors."

My entire staff turns to me, trying to read any emotions revealed on my face. Even Eric is sweating; I can see armpit stains pooling under his arms and seeping through his button-up shirt. I don't give in to it, and instead remain stoic.

The reporter continues, "Photographs of the three have been retrieved that show a lewd, crude, and completely degenerate trio. Less than 24 hours after the news of this broke, Capital Bank's VP of Public Affairs took to Twitter, and had this to say: 'We refuse to turn a deaf ear to this scandal & frankly we refuse to financially back Carlton, Hardman, and Vandherhill any longer.' It remains to be seen whether or not the trio can ever regain investor confidence. The public has expressed a myriad of reactions to the allegations, many viewing it with shock and outrage. One stockholder called this a 'breach of trust.' And in further developments, Carlton and Hardman are each being indicted on alleged stock manipulation charges. This news organization strives to be fair and objective in it's reporting, however, in this instance, it's fair to say that we feel this trio should be punished to the full extent of the law."

CJ breaks our silence. "This package just came for you," she says.

She hands me a large, unmarked envelope, and I immediately open it. Inside, I find a handwritten note that reads:

"I told you not to fuck with me."

There is no name attributed to the package or the note, but its source is no fucking mystery; I immediately recognize the tight, closed loops of the letters that slant to the left.

This is Linda's work.

CJ looks more distraught than usual. "What are we going to do? It's everywhere I look—on the TV, on the Internet, and even on the front page of today's New York Daily Journal," she says, pointing to the paper lying face up on my desk. She says this in one flustered burst. "If we don't fix this, we'll all be out on the street."

I look down at the paper and the headline reads, “Scandal and Corruption on Wall Street.” The article goes on to read:

"The hard-charging so-called 'Shark of Wall Street' is being faced with a new kind of blood bath. Allegations are swirling of sexual favors for insider trading information. One source, who prefers to remain anonymous said, 'I understood immediately what was going on, which was that both Mr. Carlton and Mr. Hardman, with the aid of Ms. Vanderhill were sharing non-public information to conduct trades for the company, Dirty Lil' Angels.' Regulators are determining whether investigations will be needed."

I remove my eyes from the paper and pull my cell phone from my pocket. I need to speak with Sloane and Natalie. I dial Sloane first and listen to my phone ring. It rings and rings and rings, and then goes to voicemail.

Fuck. He's not answering.

Then I dial Natalie. Again, I wait and listen as the phone continues to ring until I'm directed to another voicemail box. Instead of hanging up, I decide to leave a message.

"Natalie, it's Drake. Listen, ignore the papers, ignore the news, and give me a call; we need to meet. All three of us need to meet. It's important. We can get through this."

And just in case she doesn't get to her voicemail, I follow up with a text.

"Plz call me bc it's important."

I take a deep breath and shove both of my hands in my pockets for a moment. Should I keep calling? Should I email them? Would any of that even help in this very moment?

It's clear I'm not going to be able to meet with Sloane and Natalie fast enough. With my best guess, it would take several hours at least. I think about Natalie and all of her work with Dirty Lil' Angels. I think about how much the company means to her, and how she's poured every ounce of her resources into the venture.

I look around my office, at all of the confused faces staring back at me. As their CEO, I need to do something about this, and I need to start moving now. I need to fucking lead, and I know exactly what my next step is going to be.

I turn to CJ.

She's staring at me wide-eyed, and waiting to hang on my every word.

"Set up a press conference for tomorrow … and tell everyone about it."

She nods her head and disappears.