Story code: ST-001438
Part 2: The Hardware Audit
“Having some connectivity issues, Claire?” Vance’s voice was pitched in a low, conversational register, a stark contrast to the aggressive physical way he was boxing her into the cubicle.
Claire kept her hands flat on the desk, acutely aware of how badly they wanted to shake. “A little lag,” she lied, her voice tight. “The Q-Drive just dropped.”
Vance didn’t move back. He leaned closer, his pale blue eyes flicking to her secondary monitor. The spreadsheet she had just created sat in dead center. “Date. Time. Volume. Discrepancy.” He read the headers aloud, tasting the words as if they were a puzzle. “Interesting metrics for a Tuesday morning. Especially since the analytics team is currently undergoing… restructuring.”
“Just a local scratchpad,” Claire said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “To track some historical data while I wait for IT to restore my token.”
“I see.” Vance finally stepped back, though only enough to give her a few inches of breathing room. He gestured toward the aisle with a slight tilt of his head. “Stand up for me, Claire. Company policy during an active access revocation. We just need to do a quick hardware audit.”
The nausea twisted tighter in her stomach. She slid out of her chair, her knees feeling dangerously weak, and stepped into the narrow space between the cubicle wall and the desk. Vance immediately took her place. He didn’t sit in her chair; instead, he leaned over the desk, taking control of her mouse. His heavy, manicured hand dwarfed the plastic peripheral.
Beneath the desk, just inches from his polished dress shoes, was the bottom right drawer. Claire’s eyes darted toward it for a fraction of a second before snapping back to the monitor. Inside that drawer sat a thick manila envelope and a bulky red external hard drive. She had spent the last three weeks quietly exporting employee data, cross-referencing HR termination logs against the company’s pension vesting schedules. It hadn’t taken long to find the pattern. Vance’s “routine updates” were surgical strikes. He was terminating veteran staff members like Arthur exactly forty-eight hours before their ten-year pension cliffs, effectively defrauding them out of millions in retirement payouts to inflate the quarterly margins.
It was a massive, illegal violation of employment law, and she had the proof. But the proof was locked in a cheap laminate drawer, and the man who orchestrated the fraud was currently scrolling through her desktop files.
“Empty desktop,” Vance murmured, sounding almost disappointed. “No local saves. You’ve always been good at following digital hygiene protocols, Claire. Commendable.”
“I try to keep everything on the servers,” she said, her throat dry.
“Smart.” Vance released the mouse. He turned his attention to the physical desk. He reached out and pulled open the top left drawer. A handful of pens rolled across a plastic tray. Sticky notes. Lip balm. He pushed it closed. He opened the middle drawer. Empty file folders and a box of staples.
Every time a drawer slid open, the metallic rasp scraped against Claire’s nerves. She calculated the distance to the elevator. If she ran, she’d make it, but she would be leaving the evidence behind, effectively handing Vance the very data she had risked her career to compile. He would destroy it, and she would be terminated for insubordination before she even reached the lobby.
Vance’s hand dropped to the bottom right drawer. He pulled. It didn’t budge. The metal lock held firm.
He pulled again, harder, the desk rattling with the force. He paused, looking down at the lock, and then slowly turned his head to look at Claire. The faux-polite smile was entirely gone from his face.
“Looks like this one is stuck,” Vance said softly.
“It’s locked,” Claire replied, trying to keep her breathing steady. “I keep my purse in there when I go to lunch. For security.”
“Very prudent.” Vance extended his right hand, palm up. “Keys, please.”
Claire stared at his empty hand. The small silver key was currently burning a hole in the right pocket of her slacks. If she handed it over, it was over. He would open the drawer, see the printed vesting schedules, and know exactly what she had been doing for the last month.
“I don’t have it,” Claire said. The lie slipped out smoothly, born of pure desperation. “I lost it last week. I put a ticket in with maintenance to get a replacement, but they haven’t come up yet. I haven’t been able to open it since Thursday.”
Vance didn’t lower his hand. His eyes scanned her face, dissecting the micro-expressions, looking for the tell. He held the silence, letting the weight of the quiet office press down on her. The only sound was the distant hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of Vance’s index finger against the edge of her desk.
“You lost the key,” he repeated, flatly.
“Yes. It must have fallen off my ring.”
Vance finally lowered his hand. He reached inside his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a sleek black walkie-talkie. He didn’t break eye contact with Claire as he pressed the transmit button.
“Security, this is Vance. I need building maintenance on the fourth floor, sector G. Bring the master key ring and a pry bar. We have a stuck drawer during an offboarding.”
Static crackled from the radio, followed by a gruff voice. “Copy that. On our way up.”
Vance clipped the radio back to his belt. He crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the cubicle partition, effectively trapping her inside the small workspace once again. He checked his heavy silver wristwatch.
“Should be about two minutes,” Vance said, his voice returning to that soft, conversational register. “Why don’t we wait together, Claire? Just to make sure we get your purse out.”