Fake Data, Locked Archive And My Counterattack

I was once Wall Streets youngest prodigy, a legendary risk analyst. Now, I was trapped in an office drama as cannon fodder. Day one, I was handed a suicide mission: the Easton Properties risk assessment was due next week with no raw data. The department waited for me to burn.

Bianca, the office sweetheart, pretended to help. She stayed until ten each night, eyes brimming with fake concern. Everyone called her an angel. She slid a folder across my desk. "Private contact files. Patch your report, but stay quiet."

The floating chat bar appeared: [Setup begins.][White lotus knows youre desperate.][Fake lifeline = easy trap.][Submit cooked numbers, get humiliated, CEO trip goes to Bianca.]

I opened the folder. Page three: net profit with an extra zero. Eight years on Wall Street, and they thought elementary math could blindside me?

"Thank you so much, Bianca. I won't forget this," I said, clutching the folder to my chest and putting on my best performance of a grateful, desperate rookie.

A flash of smug satisfaction flared in Bianca's eyes. She patted my shoulder soothingly before spinning on her heels and heading toward the breakroom.

"Look at you, doing charity work again."

Mandy swaggered over with her mug, her eyes dripping with condescension as she scanned me from head to toe.

"Some people graduate from Ivy League schools only to prove they can't even balance a basic spreadsheet. It's embarrassing how she clings to Bianca's coat-tails every single day."

I kept my head down, staring at my sneakers without a word. Bianca hurried back from the breakroom, gently catching Mandy's arm.

"Mandy, don't talk about Fiona like that. She's new to the firm and still learning. We're all on the same team, we should help each other."

Mandy scoffed. "You're too soft, Bianca. Watch out, or you'll hatch a snake that'll bite you when you least expect it."

"Oh, hush," Bianca teased, nudging Mandy before turning to me with a bright smile. "Fiona, since everyone is craving a coffee break, would you mind running down to the Starbucks downstairs? I'd love an iced shaken hibiscus herbal tea, light ice, and only one pump of cane sugar. Don't get it wrong, okay?"

She handed me a ten-dollar bill with a sweet grin. A single drink cost at least fifteen, yet she gave me ten.

I took the bill and nodded meekly. "Sure, I'll go right now."

As I walked toward the elevator, Mandy's mockery drifted after me. "Run along. That's about all you're good for anyway."

The moment the elevator doors slid shut, my timid expression vanished. I pulled out my phone, typed a complex string of commands, and bypassed the security protocols to access a secure, private server. My fingers flew across the screen.

Two minutes later, an encrypted file dropped into my personal inbox.

It was the raw, unedited financial history of Easton Properties for the past three years. Behind their beautifully manicured balance sheets lay a looming multi-million dollar liquidity crisis.

When I returned with the coffees, I walked past the breakroom. The door was cracked open, and hushed laughter slipped through.

"Bianca, why did you even bother giving her those files?" Mandy's voice was sharp.

Bianca chuckled. "She has no other way to get data, so how is she going to deliver her report? I'm just playing the good Samaritan. I'd hate to see her get fired by Tabitha."

"You're too kind for your own good! When she messes up the presentation tomorrow, make sure you don't take any of the blame."

"Don't worry, I know exactly what I'm doing."

I pushed the door open, my face blank. The laughter died instantly.

Mandy cleared her throat awkwardly, turning her back to wash her mug.

Bianca immediately masked her face with her signature sweet smile and walked over. "Oh, Fiona, you're back! Thank you so much." She reached for the tray of drinks.

"It was no trouble," I said, releasing my grip.

Suddenly, the main office door was slammed open. Tabitha, our department director, marched out with a stormy face, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "Fiona! Get in my office right now!"

The entire floor went silent. Smirks and whispers rippled through the cubicles as everyone watched me.

Bianca gave my sleeve a worried tug. "Go on, Fiona. Just keep your head down and don't argue with her."

I set the tray down and walked in.

Tabitha slammed a heavy folder onto her desk. "The preliminary screening for Easton Properties is tomorrow. Where is your risk assessment model?"

I glanced at the folder. "The raw data provided was insufficient. The model isn't ready."

"Bullshit!" Tabitha roared, slamming her hand on the desk. "The entire team has been working themselves to the bone, and you spend your day fetching coffee and staring into space! If you can't even put together basic numbers by tomorrow, don't bother showing your face here again."

Tabitha's screech echoed right through the blinds, filling the entire floor.

I kept my head bowed, letting her launch into her tirade.

"I don't think you're cut out for this job at all!" Tabitha took a sharp breath, attempting to steady her voice. "Given how crucial this client is, I can't leave this in the hands of an amateur."

She tapped her intercom. "Bianca, get in here."

In less than ten seconds, the door opened. Bianca stepped inside, looking as innocent as a lamb. "You called, Tabitha?"

Tabitha pointed at me. "From this moment on, you are taking over the Easton project. Fiona will assist you."

Bianca immediately put on a show of shock and deep hesitation. "Oh, Tabitha, I don't know... Fiona has been pulling late nights for this."

"She doesn't know a damn thing!" Tabitha snapped. "It's decided. You'll lead the pitch tomorrow. Don't let me down."

Bianca bit her lip, turning to look at me with a look of profound apology. "Well... alright. I'll do my best to teach Fiona along the way."

The chat bar across my vision went into overdrive:

[Wow, she really is the queen of green teas. Just like that, she steals the project.]

[She's dying to show off in front of the CEO, but she plays the reluctant victim so perfectly.]

[The original character was such a pushover. She literally thanked people for stabbing her in the back.]

As I stared at Bianca's delicate, concerned face, a sharp throb flared in my head. It was a memory from the original host of this body.

Three months ago, during the Eastside development bid, she had worked three consecutive all-nighters, compiling an incredible proposal. The night before the submission, she stepped away to wash her face. When she returned, her flash drive was gone.

The next morning, Bianca presented her exact proposal. When the original host confronted her, Bianca cried a river of tears in front of Tabitha, whimpering, "Tabitha, I swear I wrote this myself. Fiona must be confused... I don't know why she's claiming it."

When she demanded to see the security footage, the head of security simply sneered, "The cameras in that sector were down for maintenance. We have nothing."

Tabitha had spent thirty minutes screaming at her for being malicious and jealous, stripping her of her monthly bonus and making her the laughingstock of the office.

The sheer suffocation and despair of that memory still burned in my chest. I took a slow breath, locking the emotion away.

"Are you listening to me?" Tabitha snapped, rapping her knuckles on the desk. "You follow Bianca's lead from now on."

I nodded. "Understood."

The moment we stepped out, Mandy rushed over to drape an arm around Bianca's shoulders. "I knew it! A massive account like Easton needs real talent to carry it."

Bianca sighed softly, leaning on Mandy. "The pressure is so intense. I have to review everything from scratch."

She turned to me, lifting a stack of paper receipts nearly two feet high and dumping them into my arms. "Fiona, could you verify these reimbursement slips and invoices for any typos? Take your time, we just want to make sure there are no errors."

A pile of useless scrap paper.

She was not only hijacking my work; she wanted to keep me entirely occupied with busywork so I couldn't salvage my own standing.

I calmly accepted the stack. "Sure."

Back at my desk, I spread the receipts out. While my fingers appeared to sift through paper, my keyboard was flying as I ran the core scripts retrieved from the private servers.

The true financial structure of Easton Properties took shape in my mind. Not only were their earnings fabricated, but they were also carrying massive, unrecorded high-interest loans. Once their credit dried up, they would fall off a cliff.

The hours ticked by. As the office emptied out for the evening, Bianca stood up and stretched. "Fiona, are you done with those receipts yet?"

"Almost," I said without looking up.

Bianca walked over, picking up a folder. "I'm heading down to the archive room to look up some old case studies. Do you want to come along? Maybe you'll find some inspiration."

I stopped typing and stood up. "Sure."

The archives were at the very end of the corridor, a dimly lit space crowded with dusty filing cabinets that barely anyone visited. The moment I stepped inside, a sharp click echoed behind me.

The door swung shut. I turned around and rattled the handle.

Locked from the outside.

Bianca's airy voice drifted through the thick wood. "It's nice and quiet in there, Fiona. You can take the whole night to find your inspiration."

"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.

At two in the afternoon, I carried the flash drive to the executive conference room on the top floor. Mandy stepped out from a corner, blocking my path. Folding her arms, she looked at me like I was walking to the gallows. "Fiona, keep your mouth shut in there. Don't go embarrassing Bianca."

Her gaze was pure condescension, treating me like some insect. I didn't even give her a glance, brushing past her to push open the heavy double doors of the conference room.

The room was thick with tension, silent save for the hum of the air conditioning. Executive board members sat around the long mahogany table.

And at the head of the table sat a man. Nolan Keener.

He wore a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit, his tie knotted with sharp precision. His long, elegant fingers lazily spun an expensive fountain pen. With his gaze slightly lowered, his expression was impossible to read, yet his sheer, commanding presence filled the room like a quiet tide.

Sitting across from him was the representative of Easton Properties, Rupert. Rupert sat with his legs crossed, a smug smirk plastered across his face. "Are we all here? Our time at Easton is quite expensive."

Tabitha immediately offered a fawning smile, beads of sweat forming on her brow. "Just a moment, Rupert. Our presenter is ready to begin." She turned, her sharp eyes instantly locking onto me. "Fiona! What are you standing there for? Get up there and plug in the presentation!"

I adopted my usual timid posture and walked to the projector. Bianca sat beside Tabitha, mouth gesturing silently to me, 'Don't be nervous. Just read what's on the slides.'

I slotted the silver drive into the laptop and opened the only file on it. The projector screen flared to life. On page three, the doctored income statement appeared for everyone to see.

An absolute hush fell over the room. Rupert scanned the slide lazily, but within a second, his expression turned livid. With a loud crash, he slammed his hand on the table and stood up. "Is this what passes for professional standards at the Harrington Group?" He pointed at the inflated revenue figure, shaking with rage. "You multiplied our net profit by ten! Are you trying to insult Easton, or are you just incredibly stupid?"

Tabitha flinched, her head snapping to the screen. The moment she registered the absurd figure, every drop of color drained from her face. "That... that can't be right..." Shaking, she leaped to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. "Fiona! What did you do to these numbers? How could you make such an amateur mistake?"

The collective gaze of the room pierced through me like daggers.

The chat bar flooded the screen:

[And here comes the execution.]

[Rupert is furious. Fiona is about to be thrown to the wolves.]

[Get ready for Bianca's performance. It's time for her sweet-faced assassination.]

Right on cue, Bianca stood up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Tabitha, please don't be too hard on Fiona... She was just trying too hard to prove herself. I noticed her data looked off yesterday and offered to help, but she told me to mind my own business, insisting she could handle it. I wanted to verify the numbers this morning, but she spilled her coffee and ruined her laptop. It's my fault. I failed to supervise her as her senior."

The executives shook their heads in disgust. "Young kids these days, arrogant with zero capability." "People like this are a liability. Fire her." "If this ruins our partnership with Easton, she should be sued for damages." The wave of condemnation mounted, ready to bury me alive.

Desperate to save her own skin, Tabitha snarled and pointed toward the door. "Fiona, pack up your things and get out! The Harrington Group has no room for useless trash!"

I stood there, making no attempt to defend myself, watching the circus unfold.

Just when everyone assumed I was done for, Nolan Keener, who had remained entirely silent, stopped spinning his fountain pen.

The tip of the pen tapped against the marble tabletop with a sharp, resonant snap.