The images are grainy, in black and white, and time-stamped at 2:13 a.m. that same morning. They come from camera 7B, the one pointed directly at the door of the main server room.
The door opens. A figure enters. The person is massive, corpulent, with a familiar swaying gait. I know that walk.
That’s my uncle, Marcus Cole.
But he tries to conceal himself. He wears a dark hoodie and a New York Yankees cap pulled low over his shoulders. His face is completely shrouded in shadow. He uses a master key, not his personal access card, to open the door. He slips inside, and the door clicks shut.
The video ends.
What is the acting CEO doing, in disguise, in the server room at 2 a.m.?
I know where to go.
I find Rey in the basement, polishing the floor of the long service corridor. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me. As if he was expecting me.
I say nothing. I approach him and hand him my phone, playing the blurry, silent video. He watches it once, then twice. He squints and leans towards me.
« You’re looking at the wrong thing, » he grumbles in a deep, raspy voice.
« What do you mean? It’s Marcus. I know. »
« Drop the hat, » Rey said, pointing a knobbly finger at the screen. « A man who tries to hide his face often reveals what he can’t hide. Look at his wrist. »
I pause the video. I zoom in.
The sleeve of the hoodie is slightly rolled up. On his left wrist, a large, metallic watch reflects the dim light.
« It’s a Patek Philippe, » Rey murmured. « The Nautilus. It costs more than the annual cleaning budget for this building. I’ve seen him wear it to every board meeting he claims to chair. »
He points again to the other hand, the one that passes the card.
« And the ring. On the little finger. A gold signet ring. It’s the Cole family crest. »
It gives me goosebumps. He’s right. Marcus didn’t even bother to take off his million-dollar watch or his family ring before committing his crime.
« He was in there, » I whisper.
Rey looks up from his phone and our eyes meet.
« Yes. Now, what did he do? »
« How could I know? He could have done anything. Erased the data, planted a virus… »
Rey simply looks at me, a silent and provocative look. And I understand that he isn’t asking a question. He’s provoking me to react.
I remember my new audit log.
I run back to my desk, leaving Rey to her stamp. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely type. I log into my private cloud server. I open the file.
So :
Timestamp 2:14 AM – User: mcole – Action: MANUAL_DATA_OVERRIDE – SYS_LOG_11A_ATLAS
Timestamp 2:15 AM – User: mcole – Action: INSERT_CORRUPT_FILE_PACKET – ATLAS_KERNEL
Timestamp 2:16 AM – User: mcole – Action: MANUAL_DATA_PURGE – USER_LOG_acook Timestamp
2:17 AM – User: mcole – Action: CREATE_FALSE_LOG – USER_acook
He doesn’t just delete my work. He actively inserts corrupted files deep within the platform, programmed to trigger when I update. He does everything he can to make me crash the system. He creates the gross negligence they need to fire me and probably drag me through the courts until I’m ruined.
I feel dizzy. I am sick.
I stagger back down to the basement. Rey is still there, waiting for me.
« They’re setting me up, » I said, my voice hoarse. « They’re not just stealing, Rey. They’re blowing up the whole system and putting my fingerprints on the bomb. They’re going to ruin me. If they destroy my reputation like this, I’ll never find work in this industry again. It’ll be over for me. »
I lean against the wall, my fighting spirit abandoning me, replaced by an immense and cold terror.
Rey stops the tampon. The sudden silence is deafening. He turns towards me, his face impassive – that of an old janitor observing a hysterical employee.
« If you had the opportunity, » he asked in a very low voice, « to speak to the one who is the true owner of this place – not them, the real owner – what would you say to him? »
The question is so strange, so direct, that it dispels my panic. I look at him—this man who is both concierge and king, hidden in plain sight. I don’t think about a strategy. I don’t think about what he wants to hear. I simply tell the truth.
“I’d tell him his company is rotten,” I said, my voice trembling with anger, not fear. “I’d tell him his family is a viper’s nest, suffocating those who actually do the work. I’d tell him to trust me—to trust the one who built his precious platform—and let me do my job, or sell it all. Sell it all. Raze it all. I don’t care. He needs to stop letting those people use his name to destroy others.”
I breathe heavily, my words echo in the concrete corridor.
Rey stares at me for a long, intense look. The mask has fallen. I don’t see a concierge. I see Raymond Cole. And for the first time, I perceive something other than sadness or harshness in his eyes.
It’s a flash of approval.
He nods his head once, very slowly.
« This answer, » he said in a voice so soft I almost missed it, « is important enough for an examination. »
He takes his mop bucket and walks away, leaving me to face the meeting that will decide my life.
I don’t even have time to go home. I’m glued to the encrypted audit log on my personal laptop, my hands trembling, when my landline vibrates. It’s 1 p.m. My execution is scheduled for tomorrow at 2 p.m.
“Aspen” is Brenda, the human resources director. Her voice is monotonous; the usual corporate enthusiasm has completely vanished. “There’s been a schedule change. We’re rescheduling your performance review. We’ll now see you in meeting room C.”
The line is completely cut.
This isn’t a request. It’s a summons. They pull the trigger while my back is turned.
I shudder with fear. But I grab my USB key, stuff it deep in my pocket and stand up.
The journey to meeting room C is the longest of my life.
I push open the heavy glass door. It’s a courtroom.
They’re all there, lined up around the mahogany table like a firing squad: Aunt Evelyn at the head, her face frozen with profound maternal sadness; Uncle Marcus beside her, eyes glued to his watch, beaming with impatience; Caleb, slumped in his armchair, avoiding my gaze, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Brenda from Human Resources is already scrolling through a presentation on the main screen, and another man, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, displays the calm, predatory stillness of a corporate lawyer.
He himself confirms it. This is not a performance review. This is a dismissal for gross misconduct.
« Aspen, thank you for joining us, » Brenda began in a professional and neutral tone. « We had to expedite this meeting due to a serious incident that occurred early this morning. »
She clicks on the first slide. It’s a wall of red text: CRITICAL FAILURE – ATLAS PLATFORM. Timestamp: 2:19 AM.
“Around 2:19 a.m.,” Brenda read, “the Atlas platform suffered a catastrophic kernel failure. It appears this occurred during a series of unauthorized high-level configuration changes made to the system.”
The lawyer slid a thick, bound report across the table towards me.
« This error, Ms. Cook, » he said in a calm, cold voice, « resulted in the misrouting of 120 containers belonging to our largest client. The initial damages are estimated at over $300,000—and that’s for today alone. »
My God! They’re doing it! They’re blaming me for the sabotage committed by Marcus!
“We immediately checked the server logs to identify the source,” Brenda continued, her eyes fixed on her laptop. “The system only showed one user logged in and modifying the kernel at that time.”
She clicks on the button.
My name – acook – fills the screen.
« That’s a lie, » I whisper, my voice fading away. « It’s not possible. »
« We also found this. » Brenda hands me a thin folder of printed emails. I recognize my words, but they are cut out, taken out of context, and then reassembled into a monstrous text.
I’m the only one who knows how this system works.
If management doesn’t back down, I’ll be forced to act.
I won’t let my job be jeopardized.
They portrayed me as a disgruntled and unstable employee who sabotaged the company by leaving.
Evelyn finally spoke, her voice filled with calculated compassion. She reached out to me, stopping just short of touching my arm.
« Aspen, my dear, we’ve always considered you part of the family. We know you’ve been under enormous pressure. We know how much you care about your job. »
She looks at Marcus, then at me again, her eyes shining. It’s a perfect performance.
« We don’t believe you acted maliciously, Aspen. We believe this was a terrible and tragic mistake. An error in judgment. »
The lawyer slides a new, much thinner document onto the table. It is placed on top of the damning report: Voluntary Separation and Release Agreement.
« Given the circumstances, » the lawyer explained, « and Ms. Marsh’s generosity, the company is prepared to offer a solution that avoids further inconvenience. »
Brenda resumes the story.
« We are offering you a one-time severance payment equivalent to two months’ salary. In return, you agree to resign immediately. You will assume full responsibility for the system error, and the company commits to keeping the details of this incident confidential. We will not report this sabotage. You are free to move on. »
I scrutinize the small print, my head spinning.
Acknowledgment of gross negligence.
Waiver of all future claims, including but not limited to those relating to intellectual property.
Confidentiality and non-disparagement clause so restrictive that I would be sued if I even admitted to having worked here.
They’re not just firing me. They’re buying my job, my silence, and my entire future for the price of a used car.
Caleb, who had been staring at his hands, finally looked up. He tried to look compassionate, but he just looked sick.
« Come on, Aspen. Just sign. It’s the best solution for everyone. You get the jackpot and that’s the end of it. » He forced a smile. « In a year or two, when the storm has passed, I’ll give you a hand. I’ll help you get back on your feet. »
The pathetic and hollow promise of the man who personally stole my job makes me want to scream.
I look over my aunt’s shoulder. My voice is just a dry croak.
« And what about Project Atlas? The agreement with SinCorp? »
Evelyn’s mask of sadness wavers. She hates being asked questions.
« That’s none of your business, my dear. »
Marcus finally spoke, in a hoarse and deep voice.
« The Atlas platform is owned by Skyline Vertex Solutions. It always has been. Your collaboration with us is over, Aspen. Now we just have to see how it will end. »
My hand trembles. I see my entire future crumbling: blacklisted, prosecuted, ruined. I feel the pen in my hand, the crushing pressure to sign, to end the pain, to escape.
And then I hear Rey’s voice in my head.
« Good people don’t need validation. »
I imagine him on his knees, cleaning up their mess. I think back to his last words to me, in the cellar.
« This response is significant enough to warrant testing. »
There you go. That’s the test.
I’m sending the agreement back across the table.
« No. »
A deathly silence falls over the room. Evelyn narrows her eyes. Brenda from HR frowns. The lawyer’s impassive expression remains unchanged, but he seems to notice me for the first time.
Brenda sighs, as if I were a child having a tantrum. She rummages in her briefcase and hands me a piece of paper that’s different from the others. It’s a draft of a complaint.
“Aspen, I urge you to reconsider your decision,” Brenda said, her voice now firm. “If you refuse to sign the separation agreement, the company will have no choice but to defend its interests. Here is a draft complaint we are going to file.”
I read the lines.
Breach of contract. Gross negligence. Willful destruction of company property.
Damages exceeding $300,000.
Here’s the other side of the trap. The stick.
Sign this contract that binds you to life, or we will bury you personally and publicly.
Fear disappears. It vanishes, replaced by something cold, sharp, and bright.
I look the lawyer straight in the eyes.
« I want to view the server logs. »
He blinks. « Excuse me? »
« The server logs, » I repeated in a clear, firm voice. « The complete, unaltered administration logs from 2:00 to 3:00 this morning. Not your hand-picked screenshots. I want the full history of packages and actions, extracted live from the server and displayed on the main screen, immediately. »
Caleb flinches. Marcus’s face turns even redder.
« That’s impossible, » Marcus retorted, waving his hand dismissively. « The server is… it’s down, because of the outage you caused. The system is locked down. We don’t have access to it. We were lucky to retrieve those initial reports before everything shut down. »
It’s a good lie. A plausible lie.
But I know the system is working. I know it’s blocking me. I finally understand. The trap is set. They have their version of events. They have their fabricated evidence. And they have a « malfunctioning » server that’s preventing me from proving my innocence.
They cut off all my options.
I get up. My chair creaks on the parquet floor, the noise echoing in the silence.
« I will not sign anything today, » I said. My voice trembled, not with fear, but with rage. « I will hire my own lawyer to review these allegations. »
Evelyn rises, her face transformed. The mask of the loving aunt has disappeared, replaced by the cold, reptilian fury of a defiant monarch.
« If you cross that threshold, Aspen, it will be recorded in your file as an act of non-cooperation, » she hissed. « You will be dismissed for gross misconduct, effective immediately. Your access will be cut off before you even reach the elevator, and we will file the complaint before 5 p.m. »
« Then do it, » I said.
I turn my back on them all: on my family, on the lawyer, on this life I was supposed to be grateful for. I walk towards the door, I open it and I leave.
I don’t look back.
I arrive at the elevator, almost on autopilot; in the lobby, I exit through the main doors and find myself in the cold afternoon air. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t insert the key into my car lock.
I just lost my job. I’m about to be ruined by legal action. I have nothing left.
But I didn’t sign. I didn’t let them win. I kept the one thing they can’t take from me.
I finally manage to unlock the car and, leaning against the door, I try to catch my breath, when I hear the squeaking of a mop bucket on the concrete floor of the garage.
« Rey. »
He’s near the service elevator, calmly wringing out a mop as if nothing were amiss. He doesn’t even look up.
« Did the meeting go well, kid? » he asks in a deep, raspy voice.
A wild and hysterical laugh rises in my throat.
« Oh, it was perfect. Everything went as planned. They just informed me that they’re firing me and suing me for $300,000 for this privilege. »
I wait for him to apologize or say that it’s terrible. Instead, he remains silent. He interrupts his work. He simply looks at me – a long, silent, scrutinizing look.
He’s not looking at a fired employee. He’s looking at someone who just finished the exam. He seems to hesitate. He looks at the elevator, then looks at me again.
« Be here tomorrow morning, » he said in a firm, low voice. « Early. At 7 o’clock, before anyone else arrives. »
« Why? » I asked hoarsely. « So I’d get arrested at the door? »
“Because,” Rey said, turning back to his bucket, “there’s someone who wants to meet you. Someone who needs to hear your side of the story before anything is decided for you.”
I drive home, dazed, my mind replaying Rey’s last enigmatic words over and over.
There is someone who wants to meet you.
I walk into my apartment and the threat of legal action feels so real it suffocates me. I’m fired. My internet access is cut off. Evelyn will have already filed a complaint. My life is over.
I collapse on my sofa, too tired even to turn on the light, and I open my personal laptop just to contemplate the abyss.
And there, in my personal inbox, is an email. It arrived at 4:55 p.m., five minutes before the offices closed. The sender is an unknown address, from a law firm I’ve never heard of: Price, Harding & Associates.
The purpose of the line is:
Confidential – Privileged: Skyline Vertex Solutions – Ms. Aspen Cook
My heart stops. I think it’s the summons — a bailiff, but in digital form.
My hand trembles when I click.
This is not a legal action. It is an invitation.
Ms. Cook,
our firm specializes in employment law and intellectual property litigation. We have been retained by an anonymous third party to provide you with pro bono advice regarding your employment and creative rights against Skyline Vertex Solutions.
We have already reviewed the preliminary facts and believe your case is of significant interest. Please find attached a sample of the data we are working with. If you wish, please click on the secure link below for an immediate virtual consultation.
A unique, password-protected file is attached to this email. The password is contained in the body of the message.
The truth does not need to be validated.
Rey’s words. Good people don’t need to be validated.
I swallow my saliva, my throat is dry, and I type in the password.
The file opens.
This is my audit log — the secret, encrypted log I transferred to a private cloud server. The one I created. The one no one but me should have access to.
I click on the link for the virtual consultation. A video window opens and a face appears on my screen.
She is lively, well into her thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her gaze so intense it seems to pierce the screen. She wears a crisp white blouse, no jewelry, and works in an office made entirely of glass and steel.
« Ms. Cook, this is Jordan Price. » His voice was as sharp as his gaze, quick and precise. « Thank you for joining me. I know you’ve had a difficult day. »
« Who are you? » I managed to whisper. « How did you get this log? How did you know all this? »
“As stated in the email, I was retained by a party that has a vested interest in seeing the truth come out,” Jordan explains, without elaborating. “My client provided me with a complete file. He believes you are a victim of corporate malfeasance, intellectual property theft, and a coordinated campaign of workplace harassment.”
She shares her screen. I’m speechless.
This isn’t just my audit log. It’s everything. A meticulously organized file.
Exhibit A: CCTV footage – Marcus Cole – 2:13 a.m.
This is the clip I’d already seen, but this version is exceptionally clear, in high definition. You can read the name Patek Philippe on the watch face.
Exhibit B: Slack History – Caleb Marsh.
Not just the ones I had saved, but all of them. His entire Slack history, downloaded from the server.
Exhibit C: Screen Recording – Caleb Marsh – 10:17 PM.
My video, the one I filmed with my phone. But this isn’t a shaky video taken with my phone. It’s a high-resolution screen recording, directly from my workstation. Someone was recording my screen while I was recording Caleb.
Exhibit D: SVR Log – Mr. Cole v. A. Cook.
Side-by-side comparison of Marcus’s administrator actions and the « evidence » presented against me, showing the precise moment he placed the corrupted file and falsified the logs.
This is a perfect, immaculate, and indisputable case.
« Who… » I murmur, my mind tormented. « Who has this? Who could have access to it? That’s it. It’s access to the entire server, the security system, the workstations. Only the primary system owner, or… the highest-ranking controller, could have access to it. »
Jordan Price simply looks at me, his expression unreadable.
« My client is someone who believes in verifying receipts, Ms. Cook. He has been aware of the irregularities at Skyline Vertex for some time. »
« Rey, » I said. The name just came to me.
Jordan’s expression remains unchanged. It neither confirms nor denies.
“My instructions are simple,” she continued. “First, you must not tell anyone. Not your mother, not your friends. You have been fired, but you haven’t received a subpoena yet. They’re waiting for you to react—to send a panicked email, to post on social media. You will do nothing. You will not touch any data. You will not log into any systems. You will become invisible.”
« And then what? » I asked. « I just let them sue me? »
« They won’t. » For the first time, Jordan manages a smile. It’s a thin, cold, and menacing expression. « Because tomorrow morning, we’re taking the initiative. I’ll be at the main entrance of the Skyline Vertex at 7:30. You’ll be there at 7:15, as Rey told you. We’ll go in together. »
« Get in? My access is cut off. They’re going to call security. »
« Your access is irrelevant. You will be my guest. And I have an appointment. »
I spend the night in a daze. I don’t sleep. My mind keeps trying to reconcile two images: Rey, the janitor with his mop and his sad, penetrating gaze; and Rey, the client of a lawyer specializing in intellectual property, a man capable of obtaining surveillance information deep within the company.
I refuse to believe it. It’s impossible. He’s a kind old man who’s seen too much, who must have reported what he saw to the real owner. That must be it. He’s just a messenger.
He’s just a maintenance worker, for God’s sake!
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