I typed in his birthday, which he always used for his personal passwords.

The desktop loaded, displaying rows of corporate folders.

I inserted the USB drive I had hidden in my coat pocket.

I navigated to a directory labeled ‘Internal Audit Prep.’

There were dozens of spreadsheets detailing offshore transactions and wire transfers.

I clicked and dragged the entire folder to my external drive.

The progress bar appeared, slowly crawling across the screen.

Twelve percent. Twenty-four percent.

My heart hammered against my ribs in the silence of the office.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from downstairs.

One of the kitchen assistants had dropped a tray of glasses.

I heard Derek’s voice explode in anger from the foyer.

“What the hell is going on down there?” he roared.

I stared at the progress bar on the screen.

Forty-eight percent.

Then, I heard his heavy footsteps heading toward the stairs.

The heavy thud of his leather loafers hit the hardwood stairs.

My fingers trembled as I pulled the office door shut, leaving it cracked just an inch.

I stepped into the dim hallway, my back pressing against the cold wallpaper.