I took my seat at the head, folding my notes in front of me. “We have a situation,” I said, not bothering with small talk. “Someone is leaking internal projections to outside parties. There have also been unauthorized modifications to critical board reports.”
A flicker across the table, nervous glances, the kind of feigned confusion that only seasoned professionals can sustain. Eliza watched me, her eyes narrowed, tracking every word.
“Do we know the source?” asked one of the legal advisors. She was new, probably here to learn the choreography.
I nodded. “We do. I’ll walk you through it, step by step.”
I started the presentation, screen-sharing the audit logs, overlays, timestamps. Each click was a nail in the coffin. When I got to the signature, Whitfield actually grinned. Not even a flinch.
“You’re suggesting I’ve been manipulating our systems?” he said, still polite, still playing the role of the patient mentor correcting a petulant student.
I didn’t look away. “I’m not suggesting. I’m stating.”
He shifted, just enough to signal that he was ready to escalate. “I wrote the original authentication protocol for these databases. If I wanted to bypass them, I wouldn’t be so… obvious.”
Eliza let out a quiet breath, barely audible. I caught her glance, her lip curling in what could have been a smile if it wasn’t so bitter.
I advanced to the next slide: a log of external communications from Whitfield’s office, forwarded in encrypted packets to a private server registered to a shell corporation in the Caymans. I’d matched the SSL cert to his personal email. He wasn’t just leaking data; he was selling it.
The room went cold. A few of the old guard tried to process; this wasn’t the scandal they were used to. The legal team scribbled notes. Eliza didn’t move.
Whitfield looked at me, then at the screen. For a moment, the arrogance wavered. “This is circumstantial. Anyone with my credentials-”
“-Would need your physical keycard, your biometric login, and to be sitting at your desk at the precise time these packets were sent,” I interrupted. “I checked. The security footage matches.”
I cued up the video: Whitfield, at his terminal, eyes glazed in the monitor’s glow. He typed in bursts, stopped, checked his phone, then resumed. Every thirty seconds he looked over his shoulder, as if he expected someone to catch him in the act.
Silence.
He leaned back, uncrossed his arms, and shrugged. “If what you say is true, I’ll tender my resignation. But I want a closed session. My legal counsel present.”
The old guard rustled, shocked, or pretending to be. I nodded, already having prepared the documents. “Effective immediately. You’ll be escorted to retrieve your personal items. Our lawyers will be in touch.”
He stood, smoothed the front of his suit, and gave a small bow to the room. It should have looked dignified. Instead, it was pathetic.
As soon as the door closed, the oxygen returned. The board chair tried to say something conciliatory, but I ignored him. My attention was on Eliza.
She stared at the spot where Whitfield had just stood. Her jaw worked, but no sound came. Finally: “What the fuck-?”
I shook my head. “He did it. Every log, every packet, every byte of it. I can show you the audit.”
She shook her head, pinched the bridge of her nose, and bit back something I couldn’t read. Not anger, not relief, something else, rawer.
“Thank you for the transparency, Valor,” said the board chair. He was trying to reestablish dominance, but his voice was just nervous static. “We’ll be reviewing next steps for interim leadership.”
I didn’t answer him. My focus was on Eliza, who was already collecting her things, her movements precise and violent at the same time.
I followed her out into the hallway, but she didn’t slow down. Her heels snapped against the marble like gunshots.
“Eliza-”
She spun. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
“I did this for you,” I said, too quiet.
She let out a sharp laugh. “No, Gabriel. You did this for you.”
Her words stung, but they weren’t wrong. I watched her go, each step away from me a silent accusation.
