Chapter One

Thank You for Applying

Chapter 1: The Day Maya Chen Accidentally Crashed the Global Economy

Maya Chen was hiding behind a potted plant on the forty-seventh floor of Blackstone & Associates, clutching a laptop that contained enough evidence to topple three governments, when she realized that her biggest mistake hadn't been lying on her resume—it had been telling the truth about her middle name.

"MAYA FUCKING CHEN!" The voice belonged to Harrison Blackstone III, whose family had been ruining people's lives through creative financial instruments since before the Great Depression. He was currently standing in his corner office, holding what appeared to be a printout of every lie she'd ever told, while behind him the Bloomberg terminals displayed red numbers that suggested the European markets were having what economists politely called "a significant correction event."

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Maya could see news helicopters circling the building like vultures around roadkill, which seemed appropriate since she'd apparently just killed the Euro.

"I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE!" Harrison continued, his voice carrying the kind of aristocratic rage usually reserved for polo matches and yacht club incidents. "YOU'VE CRASHED THE FUCKING POUND!"

Maya checked her phone, which was buzzing with notifications from news apps that probably didn't usually send alerts about graduate students accidentally destabilizing international currency markets. The headlines were starting to get creative:

"MYSTERY TRADER CAUSES CHAOS" "WHO IS THE PHANTOM OF WALL STREET?" "ECONOMIC TERRORISTS STRIKE AGAIN"

That last one seemed unfair. Maya wasn't a terrorist. She was just a broke anthropology graduate who'd gotten really, really lost on her way to what she'd thought was a entry-level data analysis position.

Her phone rang. The caller ID showed "HOMELAND SECURITY."

That seemed like a bad sign.

"Maya Chen?" The voice was professionally polite in the way that suggested the speaker had attended extensive training in how to sound calm while discussing matters of national security.

"Maybe?"

"This is Agent Rodriguez from the Department of Financial Crimes. We need to speak with you about your recent trading activities."

Maya looked at the laptop in her hands, which was displaying a trading interface she still didn't understand despite six weeks of frantically googling financial terms during bathroom breaks. According to the screen, she'd just executed something called a "synthetic short position" against the British pound that had somehow triggered a cascade of automated selling that was now threatening to take down half of Europe's banking system.

She'd been trying to order lunch.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Maya said weakly.

"Ma'am, our records show that you've executed over two billion dollars in currency trades in the past hour alone."

"That seems like a lot."

"It's approximately the GDP of several small countries."

Maya's other phone—the special encrypted one that Harrison had given her on her first day, along with instructions that made no sense and a company credit card that apparently had no spending limit—buzzed with a text message:

*"Floor X. Emergency elevator. NOW. Bring the laptop. Trust no one. Especially not Agent Rodriguez. - K"*

K. Maya still didn't know who K was, despite six weeks of working for Blackstone & Associates. K sent cryptic instructions, approved her expense reports, and had somehow arranged for her fake credentials to pass background checks that should have revealed she'd never taken a finance class in her life.

"Ma'am?" Agent Rodriguez was still waiting for a response. "Are you there?"

"I have to go," Maya said, hanging up and immediately regretting it, since hanging up on federal agents probably wasn't covered in any employee handbook.

The emergency elevator was hidden behind what appeared to be a supply closet door, which explained why Maya had never found it despite six weeks of getting lost in Blackstone's deliberately confusing office layout. She pressed the button marked "X" and tried to calculate the odds that her day could get any worse.

The elevator opened onto a floor that didn't appear on any building directory—a vast trading floor that looked like the secret headquarters of people who considered regular financial crimes to be amateur hour. Dozens of screens showed markets from around the world, all displaying numbers that were uniformly red and declining rapidly.

At the center of it all sat a woman Maya had never seen before, despite supposedly working for this company for six weeks. She was younger than Maya had expected—maybe thirty-five—with the kind of understated elegance that suggested she could destroy your life while maintaining perfect posture.

"You must be Maya," the woman said without looking up from her screens. "I'm Katherine Winters. We need to talk."

"Are you K?"

"Among other things." Katherine finally turned around, and Maya caught a glimpse of the kind of intelligence that made her feel like a particularly slow kindergartner. "Congratulations on your first successful operation."

"Operation?"

"The pound crash was beautifully executed. Subtle, deniable, and devastating to exactly the right people." Katherine smiled with the warmth of a shark evaluating lunch options. "Your background in anthropology was perfect preparation for understanding tribal behavior in financial markets."

Maya looked around the secret trading floor, where people in expensive suits were apparently coordinating the systematic destruction of various national economies, and realized that her six weeks of confusion had led to a moment of perfect clarity.

She was not working for a hedge fund.

She was working for the kind of people who used hedge funds as weapons.

"What exactly is Blackstone & Associates?" Maya asked.

"A wholly owned subsidiary of the United States Department of Financial Warfare." Katherine's smile turned predatory. "Welcome to the war, Maya. Hope you're ready for the next phase."

"Which is?"

"Bring down the person who put your name on the Red List." Katherine handed her a file marked "CLASSIFIED: EYES ONLY." "Target designation: Asset Number One."

Maya opened the file and felt her world tilt completely off its axis.

Asset Number One was Dr. Jennifer Walsh. Her undergraduate advisor. The woman who'd written her recommendation letters. The professor who'd suggested she apply for "interesting opportunities in financial research."

The woman who'd essentially gift-wrapped Maya and handed her over to what was apparently an economic warfare operation run by the U.S. government.

"This is insane," Maya whispered.

"This is Tuesday," Katherine replied calmly. "And Maya? Agent Rodriguez isn't from Homeland Security. He's from the group that's been trying to eliminate you for six weeks."

Maya's phone rang again. The caller ID still showed "HOMELAND SECURITY."

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Floor X, Maya could see helicopters circling closer, while on the screens around her, markets continued their freefall toward what financial journalists were probably already calling "Black Tuesday Redux."

"Should I answer?"

"Only if you want to find out how good you are at dodging bullets while explaining macroeconomic theory."

Maya realized that her day had officially moved beyond "worse" into "actively surreal."

But as she looked at the evidence that her favorite professor had been using her as an unwitting weapon in some kind of international financial war, one thought cut through the chaos with perfect clarity:

She was definitely going to need a better resume.

Because whatever was happening on Floor X, it was about to require skills that weren't covered in any graduate program she'd ever heard of.

Starting with "How to Survive Economic Warfare 101."

[SIX WEEKS EARLIER...]

##