Chapter 269: The Avalanche

At exactly 2:47 PM Eastern, Rivera Next Media dropped their nuke: "The Billion Dollar Fraud: How Charlotte Thompson Bought Her Way Through Harvard and Stanford."

Thirty seconds later it was everywhere — seventeen outlets copy-pasting like middle schoolers cheating on a history test.

CNN slapped on their screaming red banner: "TECH CEO ACCUSED OF ACADEMIC FRAUD."Fox News rolled in three minutes late, as usual, with: "ELITE COLLEGE CORRUPTION: Did Quantum Tech CEO Buy Her Degrees?"

The New York Times chimed in: "Thompson Tech Empire Heir Allegedly Purchased Academic Credentials."

The Washington Post topped it with: "Harvard, Stanford Face Questions Over Wealthy Student’s Degrees."

In under ten minutes, the media was chewing its own tail like digital piranhas, each outlet desperate not to be the one guy who shows up late to the meme.

The conference room detonated.

Dr. Whitmore’s phone blew up like it had been strapped to a Samsung Galaxy Note 7. His voice cracked across the table: "Patricia, we need you on with the president immediately—CNN’s running it!"

Dean Micha went Casper-white, his phone buzzing with seventeen missed calls from Stanford PR. Professor Manning looked like he’d just watched his retirement account implode, texts flying in from alumni presidents and board members.

Dr. Kim tried juggling three calls at once, hands shaking, headset slipping like she was auditioning for Worst Crisis Manager Alive.

On the video screens, remote participants were typing so hard you could practically hear carpal tunnel forming, phones pressed to ears, the academic order collapsing into total clown circus.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Whitmore muttered, scrolling as if doomscrolling harder might undo it. "They’ve got financial records. Transaction amounts."

And Charlotte? She just sat there, legs crossed, calm as a Bond villain watching the missile launch. Detached. Dangerous. Stunning. Like victory in designer pants.

ARIA’s voice whispered through my earpiece: "Master, Quantum Tech’s stock price is in freefall. Down eighteen percent in the first five minutes of trading."

I pulled out my phone and watched the carnage unfold in real time. The stock ticker showed QT plummeting from $847 per share to $694 in minutes. Each refresh brought new lows as automated trading algorithms reacted to the flood of negative news coverage.

CNBC had already gone full funeral mode: "QUANTUM TECH STOCK CRASHES ON FRAUD ALLEGATIONS." Talking heads debated Charlotte’s future like she wasn’t sitting five feet away, speculating about SEC investigations, CEO replacements, and "loss of public trust" like they’d trademarked the phrase.

Bloomberg Terminals lit up like Vegas. Institutional investors were getting slaughtered, pension funds screaming, hedge funds panic-selling like crypto bros in a Discord crash channel.

Even the Dow took a sympathy nosedive, forty points gone in minutes, as if tech stocks were contagious.

Billions evaporating in real time.

Media baying for blood.

Academics panicking like kids caught with weed in their dorm.

And Charlotte? Still calm. Still collected. Still looking like the only person in the room who’d already written the ending.

Twitter went full apocalypse mode. #CharlotteThompsonFraud exploded like Vesuvius with Wi-Fi. #Harvard, #Stanford, #AcademicCorruption riding shotgun, trending before anyone had time to finish their oat milk lattes. Algorithms amplified the chaos like caffeinated roosters on steroids — suddenly millions of strangers knew her name and her business.

Instagram influencers were posting reaction vids faster than their PR teams could say "cancelled", followers flooding the comments with fire emojis, shocked faces, and passive-aggressive lectures about ethics.

TikTok turned into a recycling center for "rich kids buying degrees" content. Old clips about admissions scandals got remixed with Charlotte’s photos, trending harder than a Fyre Festival fail video.

LinkedIn? A professional ghost town. Everyone was distancing themselves from Quantum Tech and the Thompson name like it was radioactive.

Reddit’s r/news was climbing front-page fame like a caffeinated squirrel on a ladder — thousands of upvotes, comments ranging from outrage

My ears buzzed with an feeds from ARIA: "Quantum Tech’s main switchboard has received 347 media requests in the past three minutes. All lines are jammed."

Charlotte’s device was buzzing constantly now. The fake board members, major investors, business partners, media representatives - everyone wanted immediate responses to questions she couldn’t answer without legal consultation.

Alice and Rebecca sat frozen, watching their quiet, academic existences implode in real time. Their husbands hadn’t been dragged into the headlines yet, but anyone with a pulse knew it was only a matter of time before reporters started digging like raccoons in a dumpster.

Harvard’s crisis team had gone full meltdown. Dr. Whitmore fielding calls from presidents, donors, and federal officials like he was juggling chainsaws blindfolded.

Stanford wasn’t much better. Dean Rodriguez looked like a man who’d just discovered the skeleton in his closet was holding a flamethrower. Alumni statements flew in, major donors paused contributions, student newspapers scrambled like contestants in a Survivor challenge.

Academic Twitter exploded. Professors from rival institutions roasted Harvard and Stanford harder than a Netflix comedy special. Campus protests ignited, students outraged that their degrees were apparently collateral damage in the billionaire drama.

And through it all? Charlotte and Madison remained calm, statues amid the chaos. Charlotte with her calculating smirk, Madison with that post-storm satisfaction lingering in her gaze. Watching the digital world burn around them, it wasn’t just power. It was beautiful.

Every refresh of a news site was like pouring gasoline on a dumpster fire. Business Insider was running: "5 Other Times Elite Universities Were Accused of Selling Degrees."Vanity Fair had dug into: "The Thompson Family’s History of Buying Access."The Atlantic was prepping a think-piece called: "The Death of Academic Merit in America."

International media joined the chaos. The BBC led with: "American University Fraud Scandal Rocks Elite Education." Across Europe, outlets framed this as yet another episode in America’s institutional collapse, the kind of story that makes diplomats sip wine nervously.

The narrative had traction — not just legs, but freakin’ marathon-running legs. Rich family, elite universities, academic fraud, billion-dollar tech companies — every box ticked for maximum public rage and trending potential. Twitter, TikTok, Reddit, CNN, BBC — all spinning in synchronized panic. The internet didn’t just care; it was hungrier than a pack of rabid raccoons at a dumpster convention.

Charlotte’s phone finally fell silent. Not because the calls stopped. She had just gone full nuclear option: powered it off entirely. Calm amid the storm, like a cat watching a tornado from the countertop.

"Well," she murmured, voice low, precise — cutting through the ringing phones, panic-stricken voices, and the faint smell of burnt coffee, "that escalated quickly."

I let a smile curve across my lips because, oh boy, the carnage had barely begun. The Vultures had no idea what they’d actually unleashed. This wasn’t just a storm — it was a hurricane with teeth, and we were already riding the eye.