Shadows Across the Ocean - Ch 15

While Raven is miles away, whispers of doubt take root at home—threatening everything she’s built.

The Auction - Imagined by the Author, Created with ChapGPT

The auction grounds buzzed with quiet intensity, the kind of energy that came from money about to change hands. Rows of pristine horses stood in the holding pens, their coats gleaming under the overhead lights, buyers murmuring as they assessed bloodlines and potential.

Ben hadn’t planned to be here today. He hadn’t even known about the event until a passing comment at the feed store tipped him off—an invitation-only showcase, orchestrated by Whitman. Not that it surprised him. The man had been making moves, leveraging his campaign to weave himself deeper into the community. Ben wondered what he was planning.

Sam spotted Ben first, stepping away from a knot of trainers and ranch owners gathered near the competition ring. “Figured you’d show up,” Sam muttered, nodding toward the paddock where a sleek bay gelding was being led through an obstacle course. “Whitman’s been working the crowd all morning.”

Ben glanced around, taking in the clusters of familiar faces—breeders, trainers, potential clients. People who, until recently, had been eager to work with Raven.

“What’s he up to?” Ben asked, his voice low.

Sam exhaled sharply. “Nothing direct. Just planting seeds. Little comments here and there. Stuff like, ‘I’ve heard some concerns about her methods—might not be as safe as they seem.’ Then he shifts the conversation, makes it seem like he’s just looking out for the community. It’s slick, Ben. Real slick.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. Whitman wasn’t reckless—he was calculated. If he was spreading doubt, it was because he had a strategy. And if he was doing it here, it meant he thought he had an audience willing to listen.

Up in the shaded VIP section, Whitman was holding court, leaning in just enough to make his words feel conspiratorial, his expression all careful concern. Ben couldn’t hear the exact words, but he saw the effect—subtle nods, murmured responses, thoughtful pauses. The kind of conversation that lingered long after the event ended.

And then there was Shikáni.

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Or rather, there wasn’t.

Hidden in the crowd, unseen but ever-watchful, Shikáni moved through the shifting tides of conversation, listening. Observing. Hearing words between the lines.

No one paid attention to a teenage girl at a place like this—not when there were pedigrees and profits at stake. But she was listening, and what she heard sent a cold wave through her.

Whitman wasn’t making accusations. Not outright.

He was just asking questions.

“I’ve heard some concerns about her methods—might not be as safe as they seem.”

“Of course, tradition has its place, but we need to think about progress. Modern solutions, not outdated techniques.”

“AI-assisted training and resource management could revolutionize the industry. Safer. Smarter. More efficient.”

The words landed carefully, laced with just enough doubt to stick. Shikáni watched as buyers nodded, considering. Hesitating.

By the time Ben and Sam left the auction, the first ripples of damage were already in motion. Emails would be sent tonight—polite, distant messages from clients who had been ready to sign on with Raven but were now rethinking.

By morning, the hesitation would harden.

Back at Raven’s ranch, the sun was dipping behind the canyon walls, painting the sky in dusky golds and deep purples. Val was brushing down one of Raven’s mares when Ben and Sam arrived.

One look at their faces, and Val set the brush aside.

“What happened?”

Ben exhaled, the weight of what he had seen settling in.

“We need to loop Raven in,” he said. “Now.”

Val crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between them. “That bad?”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “Worse. Whitman’s not just stirring up rumors—he’s making sure they stick. He’s using this auction as a stage, tying his campaign to his so-called modernization plan. AI-based training, resource management, all that nonsense. He’s painting Raven as outdated, unsafe.”

Val’s frown deepened. “And people are buying it?”

Ben sighed. “They’re listening. And hesitating. Which is enough. I’ll bet by tomorrow, we start seeing cancellations.”

Val cursed under her breath. “And Raven’s not even here to defend herself.”

“Maybe that’s part of his plan,” Sam muttered. “It’s easier to cast doubt when the person being questioned isn’t around to set the record straight.”

Ben nodded, then hesitated before adding, “I saw Shikáni there.”

Val’s brows lifted. “At the auction?”

“Yeah. She wasn’t bidding, obviously. Just… listening. Moving through the crowd, picking up on things we couldn’t.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Smart kid. Probably caught more than we did.”

“Probably,” Ben agreed. “But this isn’t a game for her. She’s young, and Whitman? He plays dirty. She doesn’t need to get tangled up in this.”

Val let out a slow breath, then squared her shoulders. “Well, she’s already in it, like it or not. We all are.” She motioned toward the house. “Come inside. We need to figure out what we’re going to do before this gets worse.”

Ben followed her in, the weight in his chest growing heavier.

Because it was going to get worse.

The connection crackled slightly before stabilizing, bringing Raven’s face onto the screen. The grand architecture of the European estate behind her was a stark contrast to the rustic warmth of the ranch, but Ben focused on her expression. Sharp. Guarded.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice calm but clipped.

Ben and Sam exchanged a glance before Ben cleared his throat. “It’s Whitman. He’s been working the crowd at that auction, talking to people who were ready to sign with you.”

Raven frowned. “Working the crowd how?”

Sam leaned forward. “Nothing outright. Just… hints. Implications. ‘Concerns’ about your methods. He’s tying it all to his campaign, making his AI-driven system sound like the future and making you sound like the past.”

Ben could see it in her eyes—the moment the words landed, the flicker of something unsteady beneath her controlled exterior.

“People are hesitating,” Ben continued. “Some are already backing out. We figured you’d rather hear it from us first.”

Raven inhaled slowly through her nose, then let it out. “So, it’s happening again.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. “Doesn’t matter.”

Ben wasn’t convinced, but he let it go. “We’ll handle things on our end, but we needed to make sure you knew.”

She nodded once, her gaze distant. “Thanks for telling me.”

The call ended with a short goodbye, and the screen went black.

But the weight of the conversation didn’t fade. Raven stared at her reflection in the darkened screen, fingers curled into fists. The cancellations stung more than she wanted to admit.

And then Raven walked in.

One glance at her, and the laughter faded.

Her expression was composed, but the tension was unmistakable.

Raven exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I just got off a call with Ben and Sam.”

Riley set down her wine. “Is everything alright?”

Raven exhaled sharply, then gave a stiff nod. “Clients are pulling out. Hesitating. I’m starting to think Whitman’s behind it, but even I can’t believe people would fall for his nonsense this fast.”

Skylar’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s our move?”

Before Raven could answer, the Prince strolled in, casual at first, but as soon as he caught the energy in the room, his expression shifted.

“What’s happened?” he asked, glancing between them.

Raven met Riley’s gaze, then gave a small nod. “Fill him in.”

Riley straightened, turning to him. “Whitman’s running a quiet campaign against Raven, undermining her training methods by making them sound outdated—dangerous, even. He’s pushing his AI-based training system as the future, and people are buying in. Some of Raven’s potential clients are already reconsidering.”

The Prince’s brow furrowed. “Who is this Whitman?”

Raven let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “A politician who thinks he’s the future of Wáshani Valley. He’s running for office and using my business as collateral damage in his sales pitch.”

The Prince’s expression darkened. “And this has happened before?”

Raven hesitated, crossing her arms. “Not exactly like this. But people in power don’t like things they can’t control. Years ago, there were whispers that my approach was too unconventional, that I relied too much on instinct and tradition rather than ‘science-backed’ methods. A few trainers even tried to push me out, saying my way was reckless. I had to fight for every bit of credibility I earned.” She exhaled slowly. “Now it’s the same battle, just with a new opponent.”

The Prince held her gaze for a long moment before saying simply, “Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

Raven let out a breath, some of the weight lifting—just a little. “I don’t know yet.”

But she would. And when she did, Whitman would learn exactly who he was up against.