"Brad is accelerating his timeline," Lucas said, his voice a low gravelly hum as he tapped his ruggedized terminal. "He knows someone is pulling the loose threads. He's not going to wait for the final audit on Friday. He's going to push Omni to sign the term sheet tomorrow."
I leaned against the cold metal of the server rack, feeling my legs tremble. "If they sign tomorrow, I'm dead. I'll be locked in federal prison before the weekend." I looked up at him, my vision adjusting to the blue LED lights. "Who are you? You have military-grade hardware. You have the access codes. Are you an investigator for Omni Capital? Is that it? Did they send you in undercover to vet the tech?"
Lucas slung the heavy terminal over his shoulder by its thick canvas strap. He looked at me, a cryptic shadow crossing his weathered face. "I make sure investments don't go bad, David. And I make sure the people who build fraudulent empires get exactly what they deserve."
"Then let me help you," I urged, stepping into his path. "You have the download of the script, but you don't have the internal emails. Brad communicates his illegal directives through an encrypted offline network. The terminals in the executive suite. I can get you the private routing numbers to access his hard drive, but you have to promise to clear my name."
Lucas studied me. The silence stretched until it felt physically heavy.
"Okay, David," Lucas finally said. "You get the routing numbers. Meet me in the ground-floor stairwell at six P.M., right after the building clears out. We download the rest of the proof together."
He turned and walked toward the emergency fire exit at the back of the room. He pushed the crash bar, and the door opened silently—he had jammed the alarm sensors. Before he stepped out into the concrete stairwell, he looked back over his shoulder.
"Don't do anything brave, David. Just survive the workday."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the freezing room.
Surviving the workday proved to be an agonizing psychological torture.
When I emerged into the lobby, the atmosphere in AuraNet was nauseatingly cheerful. Brad had ordered a catered breakfast for the entire staff to celebrate the impending Omni buyout. Technicians and marketing associates were eating avocado toast and drinking champagne from plastic flutes while a DJ played loud electronic music near the reception desk.
I kept my head down, making my way to the executive suite.
For eight hours, I played the part of the busy CFO. I sat in my glass-walled office, answering emails, signing mundane expense reports, and trying to keep my hands from shaking every time a shadow passed my door.
At 4:00 P.M., Brad walked into my office without knocking.
He didn't have his usual entourage of sycophants. He shut the door behind him and locked it. The glass frosted over, sealing us in.
Brad walked slowly to my desk and dropped a single sheet of paper onto my keyboard.
I looked down. It was a termination letter. It was backdated to the previous Friday. It cited "gross financial misconduct" and "unauthorized manipulation of user metrics" as the causes for my immediate dismissal.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice dangerously tight.
"A safety net," Brad said softly, resting his knuckles on the edge of my desk and leaning down until we were eye level. "My security team found signs of a physical breach in the server room this morning. I don't know if it was you, David, or if it was someone you hired. But I am not leaving my billion-dollar exit to chance."
"You can't just backdate a termination," I said, my heart sinking.
"I can do whatever I want. I own the HR department," Brad sneered. "The Omni Capital Chairman is flying in tomorrow morning. A man named Lucas Vance. He's notoriously paranoid and incredibly ruthless. He insists on a final, in-person walkthrough of the financials before authorizing the wire transfer."
Brad straightened up, buttoning his tailored jacket. "Tonight, I am moving the remaining liquid cash out of AuraNet's accounts and routing it to an offshore holding company. By the time Vance arrives tomorrow, the money will be gone. If Omni catches the fake users during the final walkthrough, I hand them this backdated termination letter and tell them you went rogue, stole the cash, and fabricated the numbers."
"You're fleeing," I realized, the horror washing over me. "You're taking the money and running to a non-extradition country, leaving me holding the bag."
Brad smiled. It was a cold, reptilian expression. "I prefer the term 'early retirement.' Clean out your desk, David. If you're still in the building by five P.M., Trent is going to drag you out by your hair and call the police."
The glass walls un-frosted. Brad unlocked the door and walked out, disappearing down the plush hallway.
I sat frozen in my chair.
I had no time left.
I waited until 5:30 P.M. The executive suite had cleared out as the staff headed out for early drinks. I crept out of my office and moved down the silent hallway to Brad’s suite.
The door was locked, but as CFO, my master code still worked on the keypad. I slipped inside, pulled a small encrypted USB drive from my pocket, and jammed it into Brad’s desktop terminal. My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped the drive.
I rapidly typed the private routing commands I had memorized. A progress bar appeared on the screen, downloading Brad’s encrypted offline communications—the smoking gun that proved he ordered the creation of the ghost servers.
10%... 40%... 70%...
The progress bar crawled. Every second felt like an hour. The hum of the air conditioning sounded like a jet engine.
99%... Complete.
I yanked the USB drive free, shoved it deep into my pants pocket, and bolted from the office. I avoided the elevators, sprinting toward the rear emergency stairwell to meet Lucas.
I pushed the heavy fire door open on the ground floor.
The concrete stairwell was dark, lit only by a flickering fluorescent tube. Lucas was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning casually against the railing. He had shed his heavy tool belt but still wore the faded gray maintenance uniform.