Nobody touched the computer for several seconds.
The draft complaint sat open on the screen.
Richard's name appeared in the document properties.
The filing accused Parker Precision Services of misappropriating Horizon's proprietary engineering systems and confidential customer information.
It also requested an injunction against my company.
If filed, it could freeze my contract with Horizon while the dispute was investigated.
Eleanor read the first page.
Then the second.
“This was ready to submit.”
“Yes,” I said.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
She looked at the attorney.
“Can he file this without Horizon?”
“Not directly.”
“But he can create enough trouble to force us into court.”
The attorney nodded.
“And if a customer sees an allegation involving proprietary aerospace technology, they may suspend business until it's resolved.”
That was Richard's real weapon.
He didn't need to win.
He only needed to make everyone afraid of doing business with me.
Samuel scrolled down.
“There are attachments.”
He opened the first.
It was an old technical drawing.
Then another.
Then another.
All belonged to Horizon.
Except one.
I recognized it immediately.
It was a control architecture diagram I had created at home before Parker Precision Services existed.
Richard had somehow obtained it.
I pointed to the timestamp.
“This file wasn't on Horizon's system.”
The attorney leaned closer.
“Where did it come from?”
“My personal development archive.”
“Could Richard have obtained it from your old workstation?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I never stored this version there.”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Then someone gave it to him.”
That narrowed the possibilities.
Someone had access to my independent files.
Someone who knew what Richard wanted.
Someone inside Horizon.
Martin sat quietly at the end of the table.
He looked increasingly uncomfortable.
I turned toward him.
“Did you ever send Richard technical files?”
“No.”
“Did he ask you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
Martin swallowed.
“He asked me about your contract.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“He said he needed supplier information for a potential dispute.”
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing.”
I believed him.
Not because he looked innocent.
Because he looked embarrassed.
Those were different things.
Samuel suddenly interrupted.
“I found the original transfer.”
He opened another record.
“The missing control architecture wasn't copied today.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“By whom?”
Samuel entered the file ID.
The system returned an account.
Not Richard.
Not Martin.
Not Tyler.
A legal-services account.
The room went silent.
Eleanor turned toward the attorney.
“Who owns that account?”
The attorney frowned.
“Our outside counsel.”
“Why would outside counsel access Ethan's development archive?”
“They wouldn't have authorization.”
“Who requested it?”
Samuel checked.
“Request came from Richard.”
I looked at Eleanor.
“So Richard had outside counsel helping him before the board meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is the file inside our legal archive?”
The attorney answered slowly.
“Because someone inside Horizon copied it there.”
Samuel searched the archive history.
“There.”
He pointed.
“User L2.”
The attorney's face tightened.
“That's my account.”
“You accessed the file?”
“No.”
“Then someone used your credentials.”
He shook his head.
“My password hasn't been shared.”
Samuel opened the authentication record.
The attorney's account had been used from a workstation in the legal department.
At 7:32 that morning.
Before the attorney arrived.
I looked at Eleanor.
“This isn't one person.”
She nodded.
“It's an operation.”
The attorney sat back.
“Richard couldn't have done all this alone.”
“No,” I said.
“And someone is still inside the building.”
We locked down the legal archive.
Security began checking access logs.
Then Martin's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“It's my assistant.”
He put the call on speaker.
Her voice came through.
“Martin, I found something strange in your office.”
“What?”
“Your authentication device was on your desk.”
Martin looked at Samuel.
“But I have mine.”
The assistant continued.
“There are two.”
Nobody spoke.
“Where did the second one come from?” Martin asked.
“I don't know.”
The call ended.
Samuel asked for a photograph.
The assistant sent it.
The device was identical to Martin's.
But the serial number was different.
Samuel examined the image.
“This is a cloned token.”
The attorney stared at it.
“Can someone duplicate one?”
“With the right equipment.”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Then Martin wasn't hacked.”
“No.”
“Someone prepared his account to be used.”
The implication was obvious.
Someone had been planning this for a while.
We sent security to Martin's office.
They found the second token hidden beneath a drawer.
Beside it was a handwritten note.
One line.
KEEP PARKER'S FILES READY.
Martin sat down heavily.
“I didn't write that.”
“I know,” I said.
Eleanor turned toward security.
“Find out who has entered this office in the last seventy-two hours.”
The report arrived twenty minutes later.
Seven people.
Two purchasing staff.
One cleaner.
Martin.
A security supervisor.
And Tyler.
I looked at the list.
“Where is Tyler?”
Nobody knew.
His phone was off.
His car was still in the employee parking lot.
I called him.
Straight to voicemail.
Then Samuel's computer beeped.
Another login.
This time, Tyler's account.
The user had opened one file.
The draft complaint.
Then the connection terminated.
I stood.
“Find him.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Tyler Disappeared Before Security Could Reach Him, Leaving Behind One File That Changed What I Believed About His Role
At 11:07 My Eleven-Year Career Ended, but Five Minutes Later the Machine They Blamed Me For Suddenly Became Their Biggest Problem
Part 10 of 20
