B. JASPERS
(English Version)
Bruno Jaspers:
Dramatic work in three acts and an epilogue
By Benjamin Gavarre
Bruno Jaspers: Dramatic work in three acts and an epilogue © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
gavarreunam@gmail.com
PROLOGUE
Seven hundred meters above ground level, the air does
not belong to the atmosphere; it belongs to the market. On the highest floors
of the financial district, gravity works differently: empires are not built
with stone, but with cash flows, and they are demolished with a single network
command. Up here, loyalty is a high-risk asset and betrayal is simply a
liquidation strategy. Two men who believe they own the ocean are about to
discover that the digital tide changes in milliseconds. Welcome to floor twenty-eight.
Fasten your seatbelts: at this altitude, oxygen is always the first thing to
get cut off.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
·
BRUNO
JASPERS (50 years old): The
largest independent shareholder of Malta Holdings. An old-school shark schooled
in financial mud. Elegant, stoic, and possessed of a surgical coldness. He does
not play by the system's rules; he buys them. His presence dominates the space
without ever needing to raise his voice.
·
FERNEZE
(60 years old): Senior CEO of the
Board of Directors. The tailored-suit bureaucrat who confuses the management of
scarcity with real power. Arrogant, corporate, and methodical, but prone to
panic when algorithms and Harvard contracts stop protecting him.
·
TABATHA
(26 years old): Bruno's daughter
and a top executive at the firm. Educated in the Ivy League under the premise
that balance sheets matter more than people. She is the moral thermometer of
the play; a woman caught between blind devotion to her father and the stoic
lucidity of watching her crystal world crumble.
·
IVÁN (24
years old): Principal systems
and cybersecurity analyst. The brain in the shadows. He wears an immaculate
black cashmere hoodie, ignoring the dress code of the 58th floor because he
knows he is indispensable. Cold, cerebral, and possessing a terrifying
technical precision. His loyalty to Bruno is absolute, measured in network
commands.
·
PROSECUTION
INSPECTOR (40 years old): High-ranking
official of the Office of the Attorney General. A woman with a granite
expression and an immaculate tailored overcoat. She represents the blind,
implacable weight of the state apparatus. She does not respond to bribes or
corporate pressures; she is the embodiment of Raison d'État.
·
DIRECTORS
/ FEDERAL AGENTS: Static
silhouettes operating as the tragic chorus of the modern era. The former dilute
their guilt in committees; the latter execute the State's orders in absolute
silence.
ACT I
SCENE 1
Space: The executive boardroom of Malta Holdings, on
the 58th floor. A colossal mahogany table that shines like a black mirror under
recessed halogen lights. In the background, a panoramic window reveals the city
skyline fading into a violet, polluted sunset. The atmosphere is freezing,
dominated by the dull hum of the air conditioning.
On stage: The members of the Board of Directors are
seated, static and rigid as statues of salt. FERNEZE occupies the head
of the table; he has a closed leather folder in front of him and keeps his
fists pressed against the wood. TABATHA is at the opposite end, fingers
intertwined, holding her breath. BRUNO JASPERS remains standing, his
back to the table, contemplating the abyss of the city with a relaxation that
borders on insulting.
(A prolonged silence. Someone at the table clears
their throat nervously. The sound rings out metallic and dry).
FERNEZE
(Without opening the folder, fixing his gaze forward).
Numbers have no ideology, Jaspers. The board has
voted, and the quorum is absolute. The international liquidity crisis is
bleeding us dry, and for Malta Holdings to breathe tomorrow morning, we need to
absorb your private funds. That includes the Luxembourg and Delaware
subsidiaries.
(Bruno does not move. Only the reflection of his
silhouette can be seen on the glass of the window).
FERNEZE
([Continuing with the action]).
It’s major surgery, I know. But the group's survival
is non-negotiable.
JASPERS
(Turns around slowly. He smiles with disdain, but his
eyes remain completely cold. He adjusts a shirt cufflink with surgical
parsimony).
"Survival." What a noble word the mediocre
use to dress up a plunder. You want to confiscate my accounts to cover the hole
you yourselves dug in the Balkans. Do you think the markets can't smell the
carrion, Ferneze?
TABATHA
(Intervenes immediately, her voice a notch sharper
than normal, trying to catch her father's eye).
Please... there has to be a safeguard clause. We can
structure a bridge trust without needing to violate the company bylaws.
Ferneze, listen to me—
FERNEZE
(Cuts her off sharply with a slight wave of his hand,
not deigning to look at her).
Bylaws were written for times of peace, Tabatha. In
the current ecosystem, market laws prioritize corporate infrastructure, not the
individual.
(Ferneze locks his gaze directly onto Bruno).
FERNEZE
([Continuing with the action]).
As of this second, your controlling assets are frozen
and transferred to the central treasury. You are out of the consortium, Jaspers.
You may turn in your access credentials at reception.
(No one at the table breathes. Several directors
immediately lower their gaze to their tablets to avoid eye contact. Bruno takes
three slow steps toward the table. He rests only his index finger on the
mahogany. His voice drops drastically in volume, forcing everyone to lean
forward to hear him).
JASPERS
(In an icy, calculated whisper).
Out? How tender the managers of scarcity are. You're
dividing up a pie that is still in my oven. You think that because you control
the elevator switch you've left me on the street. It’s a textbook corporate
hostile takeover... but you forgot a basic rule they don't teach in your
Harvard master's programs.
(Bruno pulls a smartphone from his pocket. He doesn't
type furiously; he caresses the screen just once. A sharp, simultaneous beep
echoes from the devices of three directors seated at the table. Red alerts).
JASPERS
([Continuando con la acción] / [Continuing with the
action]).
He who controls the real debt is the true owner of the
sharks.
(Bruno slides the phone across the mahogany table. The
device glides smoothly over the polished wood until it stops dead right in
front of Ferneze's hands. On the screen, a financial candlestick chart plunges
vertically in real time).
JASPERS
([Continuing with the action]).
By midnight, Malta Holdings stock won't just be
trading down; it'll be worth less than the executives' toilet paper. Enjoy the
view from your ivory tower while you can. The air at this altitude gets very
hard to breathe when I decide to cut off the oxygen.
(Bruno turns around with choreographic elegance. He
walks with firm steps toward the automated glass door. The sensors take a
second to react, creating an instant of dramatic suspension).
TABATHA
(Standing up abruptly, knocking over a pen that rolls
noisily across the floor).
Wait! Don't cross that line! Dad!
FERNEZE
(His face drains of color as he decodes the data on
the screen. He stands up, shattering his composure, pushing his chair back
violently).
Security! Block all network access! Cut the central
server firewalls right now! Do not let that man leave the building with the
access keys!
(The sunset light tints the room a harsh artificial
red as the glass door closes heavily behind Bruno, leaving the Board in a state
of panic).
ACT III
CLIMAX AND INTERVENTION
Space: The same boardroom, ten minutes later. The
atmosphere has changed drastically. The giant screens in the room flash with a
critical error warning. The room is plunged into an artificial gloom broken
only by the blinking monitors. The members of the Board of Directors are
shattered. The silent alarms of their mobile phones emit a dull, simultaneous
buzz.
On stage: Ferneze, Tabatha, and the
directors in crisis. Suddenly, the glass door slides open. Iván enters
carrying a military-grade aluminum briefcase. Behind him enters Jaspers,
hands in his pockets.
FERNEZE
(Cuts a phone call short upon seeing them enter. He
tries to keep his voice steady).
The meeting is over, Jaspers. You've already been
notified of the freezing of your controlling accounts. You are trespassing.
JASPERS
(Walks with parsimony toward the head of the table. He
doesn't sit, resting both palms flat on the mahogany).
Such a nostalgic term, Ferneze.
"Trespassing." Administrators always confuse the right of property
with the right of admission. Iván, push a software update to the table.
(Iván opens the aluminum briefcase and places a
frequency jamming device in the center of the mahogany. The giant screens in
the background flicker and switch to a black background with white text).
IVÁN
(Flat, monotonous voice, looking at no one but his
tablet).
Contingency protocol executed. The master signatures
of the board of directors for the matrix accounts in the Cayman Islands and
Luxembourg have just been revoked due to issuer inactivity.
FERNEZE
(Looks at his dead corporate phone. Looks at Tabatha's
laptop).
What is this? Tabatha, reactivate the main server
firewalls!
TABATHA
(With wide-open eyes, staring at the screen).
I can't... The system doesn't recognize me as an
administrator. It has reassigned Malta Holdings' assets to an external
entity... Dad... you did it through the pension fund debt.
JASPERS
(Smiles with a surgical coldness, leaning toward
Ferneze).
I warned you that the air up here gets unbreathable.
Exactly three minutes ago, I bought eighty percent of your overdue debt in the
Balkans through an automated hostile tender offer. At this second, you are not
the Board of Directors of anything. You are employees on a probationary period.
And your performance is... deficient. Iván, hand over the liquidation filings.
(Iván takes two leather folders from the briefcase and
slides them across the table. One stops in front of Ferneze, the other in front
of Tabatha).
FERNEZE
(With white knuckles, his voice trembling with fury).
This is cyber piracy, Jaspers. We're going to sink you
with federal lawsuits. You're violating the bylaws of the regulated market!
JASPERS
(His voice drops to a blood-chilling whisper).
You have sixty seconds to clear the floor. Pack your
Montblanc pens and get out. I actually know how to manage finances without
leaving parasites gasping for air.
(A sepulchral silence. The directors remain frozen. Bruno,
instead of waiting, begins to walk slowly behind the executives' chairs,
brushing his index finger against the back of each one. He is the predator
marking his territory).
JASPERS
([Continuing with the action]).
(Monologue of the pound of flesh)
Look at you. Doing mental calculations. Wondering
which law firm is going to save you, what call you're going to make in the
elevator. You think this is a problem of algorithms or network code. What
blindness. The market isn't technology, gentlemen; the market is anatomy. It's
the pulse of the one who's afraid against the pulse of the one who has nothing
left to lose. You were educated in business schools where they taught you to
diversify risk, to dilute blame in committees and board minutes. Not me. I learned
the trade in the mud, where the value of a signature is measured by the ability
to hold a gaze. (He stops directly behind Ferneze, resting a hand on his
shoulder; Ferneze tenses up instantly). You wanted my flesh, Ferneze. You
wanted to trim my subsidiaries to feed your investors. But you forgot that to
cut the flesh of a partner, your pulse must be very steady and your knife very
sharp. And you... your hands have always shaken the moment you don't have a
contract protecting you. Time's up. You have forty seconds left.
(Ferneze collapses slowly into his chair, defeated.
The directors begin to rise in silence, humiliated. Just as Bruno's triumph is
absolute, Iván's device emits a sharp, prolonged beep. The light shifts to a
disturbing amber).
JASPERS
(Without turning around, an eyebrow raised).
Iván. I asked for total isolation. What is that
frequency?
IVÁN
(Typing at breakneck speed. All color drains from his
face).
Boss... we have a problem that doesn't respond to
network commands. It's not the Board. They're using a state-level backdoor.
Encryption protocol breached from the outside.
JASPERS
(Turning around slowly, his gaze hardening).
Explain.
IVÁN
(Sweating coldly).
The core assets... they're no longer in the external
entity. They've just been transferred to a Central Bank bridge account under an
emergency judicial order. Someone very high up in the government decreed that
our acquisition constitutes a "national security risk." They've
frozen the company's legal foundation in milliseconds.
JASPERS
(Clenches his teeth, but smiles with disbelief).
Well... so the old sharks called upon the biggest
cetaceans in the ocean to save their furniture. (Walks quickly to his
personal console). National risk? Iván, authorize the massive download of
"Project Conclave." Let's see if the Attorney General feels the same
way when the press finds out this Board and their patrons in the ministry have
been laundering cartel funds through Malta Holdings' construction companies.
I've had the notarized backups since day one. Upload it to the net now!
(Iván lifts his hands from the tablet, static. The
glass door of the boardroom opens with a dry thud. Three men in identical dark
suits enter, accompanied by a woman in an immaculate tailored overcoat: the Prosecution
Inspector. Behind them, two systems technicians walk straight toward Iván's
briefcase and disconnect it with a yank).
PROSECUTION INSPECTOR
(Advances with a firm step, stopping a meter away from
Bruno. Her voice is a block of ice).
Put away the leaks, Jaspers. The server game is over.
The order we are carrying is signed directly by the Presidential Office.
JASPERS
(Straightens up slowly, maintaining his composure,
though his eyes inject hatred).
Well... I see the prosecution also has a fixed rate
for cleaning up their bosses' trash. How efficient they are when someone steps
on their heels.
PROSECUTION INSPECTOR
(Without blinking, pulls out a document bearing a
sealed stamp).
It's not a bribe, Jaspers. It's Raison d'État. Your
compromising documents have just been classified as national security secrets
under the federal emergency clause. In legal terms: you no longer own anything,
and your evidence does not exist before the law. You are permanently barred
from engaging in any commercial or corporate activity within the territory.
(Two agents position themselves on either side of Bruno.
One of them gives him a slight nod toward the exit).
PROSECUTION INSPECTOR
([Continuing with the action]).
The building is being evacuated. Please accompany us.
(Ferneze raises his head, recovering his color,
wearing a miserable smile of triumph. Tabatha looks at her father with a mix of
pity and horror. Bruno looks at the Inspector, then at his daughter, and
finally at the screens, which shut down completely, leaving the room in a
bluish gloom cast by the city lights).
EPILOGUE
THE DAY AFTER THE EMPIRE
Space: The boardroom, now completely empty and dark.
Only the cold, bluish light of the city's skyscrapers pours through the grand
window. The massive mahogany table gleams like an abandoned altar.
On stage: Tabatha is alone. She packs her
computer and a few loose papers, putting them into her briefcase. She pauses
for a second and stares at her blurry reflection in the window glass.
TABATHA
(Monologue of the silent collapse)
Two minutes. That's how long it takes an empire to
turn into a liquidated file. I grew up hearing that this building was a bunker,
a fortress not even the government could touch. "We are indispensable,
Tabatha," my father used to tell me while teaching me how to read balance
sheets before literature. And I believed him. I believed money made us immune
to gravity. But up here the floor is textured glass. You spend your whole life
climbing, stepping on heads, signing bankruptcy verdicts for families you'll never
meet, only to discover that the summit isn't a refuge. It's an execution
platform. My father thought he controlled the debt; Ferneze thought he
controlled the Board; the State proved it controls the air. Down below... down
below the city keeps burning, ignoring that the gods of floor twenty-eight have
just been devoured by bigger ones. No one is indispensable. Only the cash flow.
(Tabatha closes her briefcase with a dry snap. The
room lights go completely dark).
(Transient curtain toward the ground floor lobby)
Space: The ground floor lobby of the corporate
skyscraper, deep into the night. It's a monumental space of white marble and
glass, completely empty. The main lights are off; only security spotlights
project giant shadows. In the background, the revolving doors open out to a
heavily raining street.
On stage: Jaspers walks alone toward the exit.
He no longer has his briefcase, his phone, or his tablet. His suit is still
immaculate, but his body language is that of a man weighing an extra hundred
pounds. He stops before crossing the revolving door. He looks at his reflection
in the dark glass.
(Behind him, the sound of heels clicking against the
marble echoes. It is Tabatha. She stops a few paces away, wearing her
trench coat).
TABATHA
(With a broken voice).
I warned you not to cross that line, Dad. You got so
obsessed with tearing out their flesh that you didn't see the size of the trap.
JASPERS
(Without turning around, staring at his own
reflection).
The trap? No, Tabatha. Their law was always a net to
catch flies and let vultures pass through. I didn't lose to Ferneze. I lost to
a system they invented themselves so they would never fall.
TABATHA
They took everything from you. The accounts, the
subsidiaries, the family name on the facade. Legally... you no longer exist in
this business. What are you going to do now?
JASPERS
(Turns slowly toward her. For the first time in the
entire play, there is no ironical smile. His face is a stone mask, but his eyes
possess a terrifying fixity).
What am I going to do? The same thing the market does
when it crashes, my daughter. Wait in the shadows. These men's greed is
insatiable, and insatiability always breeds debt. They will make mistakes
again. They will need liquidity again. And when the wind changes... I'll be
collecting at the window.
(Bruno turns up the collar of his coat. He turns
around and walks through the revolving door, stepping out into the city's rain.
Tabatha remains alone in the center of the monumental marble lobby, while the
light of a "Malta Holdings" billboard reflects on the floor like a
pool of blood).
END OF THE PLAY
