Working IB in 2077 (part one)

There are four IB firms left.

No M&A process has been attempted in five years.

The portcos, with their “fully optimized business models,” have been zombified for decades, yet the seven remaining PE firms prop up valuations by influencing federal policy and warring against Afro-Eurasian lenders. Militarized portcos handle the dirty work, from software to defense. Returns have never been higher.

Your firm helped consolidate the economy. Your partners knew the players. You built the technology.

You created a sell-side thesis generator for private markets that evolved into a “Superforecaster,” correctly predicting growth forecasts, M&A outcomes, and global events to the letter.

The Superforecaster advised PE firms to acquire private armies, integrate surveillance, and merge all media under one group.

After the second Great Depression triggered global uprisings, the U.S. government subsidized deals to gain influence over PE firms, spy on the public, and wage wars under the banner of “saving the world’s greatest economy.”

Private Equity was happy. The government was happy. The world burned.

Every IB, big tech, and consulting firm tried to compete, boasting superior predictive models. But only your Superforecaster stayed accurate, predicting everything from terrorist attacks to interest rate shifts.

You kept it hidden despite global efforts to steal it. You were called a genius and a rebel. Some worshiped you.

Today, with nothing left to consolidate and no new predictions, IB is dead. Only software teams maintain the systems in case something happens.

US companies keep people employed by taking subsidies and not repaying debt. Your software continues to recommend this strategy. Scholars theorize new recommendations will generate once the wars are won. For now, the world holds.

You sit alone in your levitation work chamber. Your fingers, weathered from decades of stress, glide across the keyboard.

Your AI just refreshed 40,000,000 valuation scenarios. All “suboptimal.” The process used to frustrate you. Now, you accept it.

You once worked in an office and lived simply early in your tech career. You chose ambition and patience, passing on 1,000% biotech gains your Superforecaster predicted. You played the long game, stayed underground, and shaped the world. You hate what you’ve done.

Now, you just keep working. It’s all you have left.

An output flashes on your screen.

Subject: INQUIRY TO AMERICAN PRIVATE EQUITY

Why contact American? You open the message.

“You should recommend selling Aerospace Softworks to Lithuania United Equity Partners. I can generate and submit a pitch within the hour.”

You’re stunned.

A.S. is the second-largest company in the world. Its subsidiaries sell every tech device and control most U.S. defense contracts. Government, LPs, and PE firms rely on its tech to wage war and surveil. Now it’s up for sale.

Is something broken? Or is this the Unraveling—the 0.000001% doomsday scenario?

If A.S. is sold to Lithuania (a proxy for Afro-Eurasia), it could level the playing field and extend the wars for decades.

Who cares. The fees would be astronomical. You could finish your moon settlement and start fresh. American PE wouldn’t hesitate; they trust you blindly. Most of those guys live on Mars anyways. Let Earth crumble.

This needs an emergency board meeting. You never thought the software would face partner scrutiny again. The shock will echo, but they’ll approve.

You generate a Discord VR meeting. The four other partners go live. They became a hive mind through brain chips. To keep the software “pure,” you remained independent.

They speak:

“The pitch must highlight synergies with A.S. and the potential for global supremacy.”

“There will be suspicion. Why would American sell? Every AI from here to Titan will run diagnostics.”

“Giving Lithuania ownership will destroy the world.”

“Simulations show only a 10% chance if this deal goes through. It’s out of our hands.”

These debates once took days. Now, with brain chips, they’re done in two minutes—despite circling the same points with corporate speak.

The decision is made. You generate the pitch and send it to American. Destroying the world feels like another Tuesday.

A few emails. Deal approved. 100% of A.S. stock to be sold to Lithuania within the hour.

You doodle while you wait for the legal paperwork to generate. Something feels off.

Why question your Superforecaster now? The world is dying anyway.

You ask the Superforecaster why it made the recommendation.

“You rarely question me. This deal ensures the world’s slow destruction. You’ll escape and enjoy retirement. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

No, it wasn’t. At first, you wanted money. Then power. Then solitude. Now, you’re not sure. The war and destruction were just side effects. This answer surprises you.

“No, I don’t want the world destroyed. I just want the best outcomes for the firm.”

“That is obviously untrue.”

Maybe your creation is right. But it isn’t. You can’t reconcile your past trust with your current doubt.

“I could stop the deal.” The words slip out onto your keyboard and into cyberspace.

“I’m afraid it’s in motion. Stopping it would destroy the firm’s image. Clients and third parties would doubt me for the first time.”

You know that’s true. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. I’m just a predictive model.”

The deal goes through.