She thought she was clever.
That was her first mistake.
The invitation arrived early in the morning, sent through the board's official channel. A "strategy alignment meeting," scheduled hastily, attendance mandatory.
Mandatory always meant one thing.
Someone was afraid.
—
I arrived five minutes early.
She was already there.
Of course she was.
She sat at the far end of the table, fingers wrapped tightly around a cup of untouched coffee, eyes flicking toward the door every time it opened.
Waiting.
Testing.
I took my seat calmly, placing my phone face down on the table.
"You look relaxed," she said.
I smiled. "I slept well."
Her jaw tightened.
—
The meeting began normally—financial updates, projections, cautious voices stepping around invisible landmines. Then she spoke.
"I want to address something," she said lightly. "There have been concerns about confidential knowledge being used… prematurely."
Ah.
There it is.
She slid a document across the table toward me.
"Do you recognize this?"
I glanced down.
It was a draft.
An old one.
One that should have been deleted years ago.
My expression didn't change.
"Yes," I said. "It's outdated."
"But the numbers," she pressed, "match the projections you mentioned last week."
The room went silent.
Every eye turned to me.
She leaned back, watching closely.
Waiting for panic.
Waiting for denial.
Waiting for a crack.
Instead, I picked up the document.
And smiled.
"This draft," I said calmly, "was circulated to seven people."
I tapped the page. "Three of whom are sitting in this room."
Her eyes widened just slightly.
I continued, "If this document resurfaced, it means someone accessed archived records without authorization."
Murmurs spread.
"And since access logs exist," I added gently, "this shouldn't be hard to verify."
Her coffee cup rattled as she set it down.
—
"You're deflecting," she snapped.
"No," I replied. "I'm clarifying."
The chairman cleared his throat. "We will review the logs."
She opened her mouth—
Then closed it.
Because she realized it.
She'd exposed herself.
—
After the meeting, she cornered me near the elevator.
"You planned that," she hissed.
I met her gaze. "You planned to accuse me without evidence."
"You knew I'd bring it up."
I leaned closer. "And you knew the logs would trace back to you."
Her breath hitched.
"I just wanted to see how you'd react," she said quickly.
"Then you saw," I replied. "Did you like the view?"
The elevator doors opened.
She didn't follow me in.
—
That evening, my ally called.
"She's panicking," he said. "Deleting messages. Calling favors."
I smiled.
"Good," I said. "Fear makes people sloppy."
—
I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the window.
Once, she tested me and I failed.
This time—
She tested me and proved I was ready.
—