Chapter 4 - The Counter-Trap
Victor walked out of the boardroom with the swagger of a man who believed he held all the winning cards. He slammed the glass door behind him, leaving me sitting alone in the cold glare of the Chicago skyline.
For a terrifying moment, doubt clawed at my chest. He was right about the digital footprint. As the CEO and sole majority shareholder, my master credentials had access to every administrative tier. If Victor had systematically routed the secondary approvals through my terminal while I was incapacitated by grief, proving my innocence in a federal investigation would be a nightmare.
My phone buzzed violently on the desk. It was an internal alert from the legal department.
“Mr. Blackwell, unauthorized data dump detected from server room B. Someone is attempting to wipe the primary database.”
Panic surged through my veins. Victor wasn't just bluffing; he was actively executing a scorched-earth protocol to frame me and burn the company to the ground before noon.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my keys, bolted past my empty secretary's desk, and sprinted toward the private executive elevator. I bypassed the ground floor entirely, punching the code for the subterranean server room in the sub-basement—a high-security vault where the physical backup hard drives of Blackwell Domestic Services were housed.
When the elevator doors slid open, the air was freezing and smelled of hot ozone.
Standing in front of the master terminal, frantically typing commands into a glowing command-line interface, was Marcus, our head of IT security—and Victor’s personal shadow.
"Step away from the console, Marcus," I ordered, my voice cutting through the hum of the cooling units like a blade.
Marcus spun around, panic flashing in his eyes. He held a high-capacity flash drive in his trembling hand. "Mr. Blackwell! I—I was just running a diagnostic per Mr. Hale's emergency directive—"
"You're wiping the transaction history to cover Victor's tracks," I said, stepping forward, my fists clenched. "And planting the terminal logs on my user profile."
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Marcus swallowed hard, looking toward the heavy steel exit door, then back at me. A desperate, cornered look crossed his face. He reached behind his back, his fingers slipping into his jacket pocket.
"I'm sorry, Julian," Marcus muttered, pulling out a small black canister. "Victor said you wouldn't understand."
