Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I began processing my so-called termination.

According to procedure, I needed to transfer all my unfinished work to the project manager—Vivian Matthews.

She sat at my workstation with a handover checklist, like an inspector.

The project she was responsible for—I'd pulled several all-nighters last month to finish it.

"Why does this data look wrong?"

Vivian pointed at a report on the screen.

My heart sank. I leaned in to look.

That was the final version I'd submitted last Friday. I'd checked it at least ten times. There couldn't be any problems.

"I remember everything was fine when I handed it to you."

"Really?" Vivian raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I'm misremembering, or maybe you accidentally messed it up?"

She turned to a coworker at the next desk and smiled.

"Well, Clara's been under a lot of stress lately. Mistakes are understandable."

She said "understandable," but her expression clearly said "see, she's just incompetent."

"But it's a small issue. I'll fix it."

She appeared very magnanimous, picking up the mouse to help me correct it.

I watched her randomly modify my spreadsheet, and a bad feeling rose in my chest.

I couldn't confront her on the spot. I needed evidence.

I straightened up and casually picked up my water glass.

"I'm going to get some water."

I turned toward the break room.

She didn't know I'd already started the screen recording function on my computer.

Her every move was being captured.

I lingered in the break area for a moment before returning to my desk.

She had "found" three of my "mistakes."

By the end, I'd become a waste of space with questionable abilities in the entire department's eyes.

And she was the perfect manager who'd salvaged everything and showed mercy to her incompetent subordinate.

The handover finished. I carried my small cardboard box, ready to leave.

Vivian even "kindly" walked me to the elevator.

"Clara, let's keep in touch."

She waved at me with a smile, triumph practically overflowing from her eyes.

I walked to a coffee shop at the corner across from the company and found the most secluded seat.

I pulled out my USB drive and copied the video I'd just recorded.

Putting on headphones, I slowed the playback speed to one-third.

At exactly fifteen minutes and three seconds into the video.

I clearly saw Vivian's fingers, in the gap between rapidly switching windows.

Precisely click open a subfolder in my work files.

Then she selected a document named "Final Backup - DO NOT TOUCH."

Without hesitation, she pressed Delete.

That document was the most original, most complete backup of real data for the project she was responsible for.

My heartbeat nearly stopped in that instant.