Seventeen-year-old Maya Harrison thought her evening shift archiving files at Apex Architecture in Nashville was going smoothly until she walked into the executive suite.
The next morning, the corporate atmosphere shifted. Julian seemed to sense the growing scrutiny, though he couldn’t pinpoint its source. He paced the executive floor, his gaze sharp and calculating.
He walked past my archivist terminal. I was organizing a different set of files, trying to appear completely engrossed in my work.
He stopped. His shadow fell over my keyboard. “Maya,” he said, his voice flat. “Your floor access badge has been revoked.”
I looked up, meeting his eyes. My heart hammered, but I kept my face neutral.
“Data security protocol compliance,” he stated, as if reciting from a memo. “Too much time in sensitive areas. We’re tightening things up.”
He held out his hand. “I’ll need the badge.”
I slowly unclipped my badge, handing it to him. My fingers brushed his, and his felt clammy and cold. He turned and walked away, a stiff, almost victorious set to his shoulders.
He had no idea. He thought he was shutting me down, cutting off my access to the “sensitive areas.” He thought he was preventing me from uncovering anything further.
But the critical log files were already copied. They were on an offline flash drive, tucked safely in my bag. His move was too late.
Julian, still operating under the assumption that he had control, scheduled an emergency board meeting for the following afternoon. The agenda: a vote on stripping Adrian of his executive authority, claiming the firm’s data integrity was irrevocably compromised.
He was moving to seize control, convinced he was a step ahead.
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