Part 3Fake Data, Locked Archive And My Counterattack

"Bianca? What are you doing?" I pitch-shifted my voice to sound slightly panicked, banging on the heavy wooden door.

Bianca's tone carried a smug warmth. "Oh, Fiona, I'm so sorry! The lock must be jammed. I can't seem to open it from the outside either. The security team has already left for the day, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do in there tonight. Don't worry, you only have to shadow me tomorrow anyway, so you don't need to stress over the presentation."

The click-clack of her heels faded down the hallway, leaving the archives in total silence.

The chat bar popped up once more:

[This woman is brutal. It's October, and she's locking her in a freezing archive room with no heater?]

[She wants to completely cut off Fiona's escape route so she can't even try to fix the report overnight.]

[Tomorrow's meeting is a firing squad. How is Fiona going to turn this around?]

I let go of the handle, the panic instantly vanishing from my face. Brushing the dust off my hands, I walked over to a desk tucked away in the corner and sat down, pulling a compact, black tablet from my coat pocket.

Locking me in? Perfect. In a secluded place like this, I could tear down Easton's financial facade without anyone watching over my shoulder.

All through the night, my fingers flew across the virtual keys. Advanced financial models, concealed cash transactions, and shell-company networks were mapped out. By five in the morning, a flawless, textbook-level audit report was complete.

At eight the next morning, the rattle of a cleaning cart sounded down the hall. The latch clicked, and the door swung open. The cleaning lady gasped when she saw me. "Oh dear! Sweetheart, why are you sleeping in here?"

I stretched my stiff neck and stood up. "The lock jammed."

As soon as I walked back to the main workspace, Bianca rushed toward me. She was holding a bag of breakfast, her eyes red as if she had been crying. "Fiona! Oh my god, are you alright?" she cried, grabbing my hands loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone arriving for work.

"The door lock was broken last night, and I couldn't get it open. Your phone had no service either! I was worried sick, you didn't freeze, did you?"

The concern in her eyes was a masterpiece of acting.

I pulled my hands back, my voice dry. "I'm fine."

By noon, with only two hours left before the presentation, I sat at my cubicle, pretending to polish the layout of my slides. Bianca strolled over, holding a freshly brewed cup of hot coffee. "Fiona, how is the report coming along?"

She leaned in, trying to get a look at my screen.

"Almost done," I replied flatly.

"That's wonderful." Bianca nodded.

Then, her wrist buckled. A full cup of scalding coffee poured directly onto my laptop keyboard.

A sharp hiss echoed as the screen flickered twice and died. The scent of burnt electronics and coffee filled the air.

"Oh!" Bianca let out a theatrical scream, grabbing a fistful of tissues and dabbing at the keys. "I'm so, so sorry! My hand slipped! Fiona, please don't be mad, it was an accident!"

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me, the picture of remorse.

Nearby coworkers immediately swarmed us. Mandy pulled Bianca behind her, pointing a finger in my face. "Why didn't you keep your laptop out of the way? Bianca was nice enough to bring you coffee, and you're going to give her attitude?"

I silently stared at the smoking laptop, saying nothing.

Bianca dried her eyes and pulled a silver flash drive from her pocket, offering it to me delicately. "Fiona, I know your computer is ruined, but luckily I still have a backup of the Easton files I gave you yesterday. We're out of time, so just use this for the meeting."

The chat bar exploded:

[Oh my god, it's a double play!]

[Destroy the computer, then force the fake data on her. She's literally backing Fiona into a corner!]

[She knows the data is completely fabricated. This is a masterclass in clean-hands sabotage.]

I stared at the flash drive before taking it from her hand. "Thank you, Bianca," I said, drawing out each word.