Chapter 4 - The Sabotage
The transition from a quiet logistics firm to the inner sanctum of Thorne Industries was not merely a career jump; it was a baptism by fire. My office was now a glass-walled suite adjacent to Julian’s, a placement that caused enough friction to spark a forest fire among the senior vice presidents. They didn’t see my data analysis; they saw a woman who had "trapped" the CEO at a wedding.
My brother, Nicholas, was far less subtle. By the end of the first week, I walked out of the elevator to find him waiting in the lobby, his face flushed with a mixture of rage and desperation. He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward a secluded pillar.
"What is the meaning of this, Jenna?" he hissed. "I heard rumors you were consulting for Thorne. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You’re playing with people who bury careers for sport."
I pulled my arm away, smoothing my blazer—a sharp, charcoal piece that made me feel like armor. "Maybe you should worry about your own career, Nicholas. You seem remarkably concerned about what I’m doing. Does it have anything to do with your 'consulting' arrangement at the Northern distribution center?"
Nicholas went white. The color drained from his face so fast it looked like a magic trick. "I don't know what you’re talking about."
"Liar," I said, my voice cutting through the lobby noise. "I know about the shell companies. I know about the phantom consultants. And I know that if Julian finds out the extent of your involvement, he won't just ruin you—he’ll dismantle every single thing you’ve built."
He stepped closer, his voice a lethal whisper. "If you say one word to him, I’ll ensure your life is made a living hell. You think he cares about you? You’re just his latest toy, a weapon he’s using to poke at my business. When he’s done with you, he’ll drop you. And you’ll be left with nothing."
I looked him dead in the eye, feeling no fear, only a cold, hard clarity. "You always wanted me at the kids' table, Nicholas. You spent twenty-eight years trying to shrink me to fit your narrative. But look around. I’m not at the kids' table anymore. And you? You’re standing in the lobby of a man who is about to realize you’re a thief."
I walked away, leaving him trembling. But the sabotage began within hours. That afternoon, I found my digital access to the internal servers blocked. Then, a confidential report I had been preparing for Julian disappeared from the cloud. Someone—someone with high-level clearance—was systematically erasing my work to make it look like I was incompetent.
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I didn't run to Julian. I knew that would look like weakness. Instead, I spent the night working from a personal laptop, tracing the digital breadcrumbs. The logs didn't show a generic "user error." They showed an internal IP address linked to the Chief Financial Officer—a man who, I discovered, had been a frequent golfing partner of Nicholas.
The web was deeper than I thought. They were all in it together.
