You swallow, throat raw.
“That doesn’t explain why you have… this,” you whisper, lifting the USB between two fingers as if it might bite.
Luis’s eyes flick to the empty executive wing, then back to you.
“Because someone else thought the night crew was invisible,” he says. “And invisible people hear everything.”
You don’t go to your office.
Not the one with the panoramic view and the marble desk that suddenly feels like a tombstone.
You follow Luis to the janitor’s closet instead, a cramped room that smells like lemon cleaner and honesty.
He shuts the door gently, like closing a chapel.
“You have a laptop?” he asks.
You almost laugh, and it comes out ugly. “I have thirty. They froze my access to all of them.”
Luis nods as if that’s exactly the point.
Then he pulls a battered old computer from beneath a shelf, the kind of machine you’d never allow on your network, the kind nobody thinks to sabotage.Computer Hardware
You plug in the USB.
The screen flickers, then fills with folders labeled by date, time, and names you recognize too well.
CFO. Legal. Investor Relations. Board Liaison.
Your stomach twists because you can already feel the shape of betrayal forming.
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