Chapter 4 - The Bait Taken
By 11:00 AM on Thursday, Graham Pierce walked into my corner office carrying a leather-bound folio and a fresh cup of matcha tea—my favorite. He was seventy-one, with silver hair, impeccably pressed linen shirts, and a grandfatherly warmth that had fooled half the corporate executives in Colorado.
“Good morning, Elena,” he said, setting the tea on my desk with a gentle smile. “You pushed yourself too hard in Arizona. You have dark circles under your eyes, dear.”
“It was a grueling trip, Graham,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on my laptop screen. “Thank you for managing the calendar. Without you, I’d be completely lost.”
“Family looks after family,” he said smoothly, placing the folio before me. “These are the non-disclosure agreements for the Denver Tech Consortium. I’ve verified the terms with Marcus’s junior associates.”
He was lying. Marcus had completely severed his junior associates from the file forty-eight hours ago. The document in front of me was a work of art crafted by Marcus and David Choi: an authentic-looking tender containing proprietary data algorithms that looked revolutionary on paper, but were legally watermarked and registered to a subsidiary holding company solely owned by my trust.
More importantly, buried on page forty-seven under subsection 12-B, was a trapdoor clause: *Any unauthorized disclosure, solicitation, or third-party usage of the algorithmic models contained herein incurs an immediate, non-dischargeable liquid liability of five million dollars, accompanied by immediate criminal referral for economic espionage under the Defend Trade Secrets Act.*
“I need you to upload this to the secure data room by one o'clock,” I said, signing the bottom page with a flourish. “And Graham? Make sure Sloane’s office receives an invitation to the networking reception tonight at the Broadmoor. Nolan mentioned she was looking to expand her corporate network. It’s the least we can do.”
Graham’s eyes flickered with genuine surprise, followed quickly by a smug, self-satisfied gleam. He thought I was playing right into their hands—the oblivious, hardworking wife trying to curry favor with her husband’s family.
“That’s remarkably generous of you, Elena,” Graham murmured, taking the folio. “Sloane has always admired your business acumen. She speaks very highly of you.”
I looked up, meeting his watery blue eyes. “Does she? How nice to know high school grudges really do fade with time.”
Graham stiffened slightly, but I was already turning back to my computer, dismissing him with an airy wave of my hand.
Two hours later, David Choi messaged me through an encrypted signal channel:
*Subject Alpha (Graham) just downloaded the DTC packet to an unencrypted flash drive.*
*Subject Alpha transmitted files via secure WeTransfer to Subject Beta (Sloane).*
*Subject Beta just forwarded the algorithmic parameters to a venture capital firm in San Francisco, claiming it is proprietary IP owned by Avery-Pierce Consulting.*
*They took the entire line, hook, and sinker.*
I picked up my desk phone and called Marcus.
“It’s done,” I said.
“Federal marshals and our private process servers are briefed,” Marcus responded, his voice colder than a mountain pass in January. “Sloane is hosting her ‘Strategic Innovation Gala’ tonight at the Four Seasons downtown. Nolan just checked into the hotel under a false name using your joint credit card.”
“Is that so?”
“He bought a bottle of Dom Pérignon and requested two dozen white roses sent to the suite,” Marcus added. “Are you ready for this, Elena?”
I stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of my office, and looked out over the skyline of Denver. For five years, I had built a life on quicksand, trusting the people who claimed to love me while they plotted to bleed me dry.
May you like
“Marcus,” I said softly, “make sure the cameras have full battery. I want this in high definition.”
***