
It was Simon Dedic, chieftain of Moonrock Capital—a name no peasant could have invented—who, perched with quill over parchment (or, rather, digits over smartphone), dispatched a most pointed missive upon the public square called X. He saw Ripple’s bid for Circle as not merely a reach, but the apotheosis of an entire worldview: ‘fake it till you make it—transformed and weaponized!’ If a nobleman once gilded his carriage with gold, Ripple preferred to parade in promises—grand, vocal, and, according to Simon, every bit as hollow as an onion ring. Ten years, he mused, Ripple had replied to each call for substance with yet more glittering news, ever pumping the XRP token to stratospheres so absurd no mathematician could chart them without laughing.