The gray suit slid a folder across the polished mahogany table. "Yesterday afternoon, a proprietary trading algorithm—the lithium protocol you designed—was leaked to a rival firm, Vanguard Global. Vanguard executed a front-running trade this morning. They bought up the remaining supply futures before we could execute our second phase. It cost Thorne Capital roughly $200 million in lost opportunity."
Elena was stunned. "That's impossible. The lithium protocol is encrypted on the local server. It has no external access."
"We know," the auditor said. "Which means it was downloaded physically. We checked the access logs. Your keycard was used to enter the server room at 11:30 p.m. last night, and a transfer was made to an encrypted cloud drive registered to an email address linked to your brother's rehabilitation center."
Elena felt the room spin. "That's a lie! I was at home last night. I was asleep!"
"The cameras in the hallway were disabled for ten minutes during the breach," Greg interjected, feigning sadness. "Convenient."
"And," the auditor continued, "this morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 cleared into an account in the Cayman Islands. The account is under the name 'Leo Vance Trust.'"
Elena slammed her hands on the table. "This is a frame-up! I didn't do this! Why would I steal from the company that saved my brother's life? That makes no logical sense!"
"Greed doesn't follow logic, sweetie," Greg said softly. "Maybe the waitress salary habits are hard to break. Maybe you wanted a safety net in case Julian got bored of his new toy."
Elena looked at Julian, her eyes pleading. "Julian, you know me. You know the math. Look at the probability: who benefits from this? Not me. I have everything I need. Who benefits? Vanguard. And whoever gave it to them."
Julian looked at her, anguish in his eyes. He wanted to believe her. But the evidence—the keycard, the bank transfer, the brother's name—it was overwhelming. And Julian, for all his new respect for her, was still a man scarred by betrayals in the past.
"The board has voted, Elena," Julian said, his voice cracking.
"Julian, please," she whispered.
"You are suspended, effective immediately, pending a full criminal investigation," Julian said, reciting the legal script. "You are to hand over your badge and your laptop. Security will escort you out."
"You're making a mistake," Elena said, her voice trembling with rage. "This is a variable you aren't seeing. Someone is manipulating the data."
"The data doesn't lie," Greg smirked. "Isn't that what you told us?"
Elena looked at Greg. She saw the glint of triumph in his eyes. Suddenly, the equation clicked: it wasn't just envy; it was a coup. Greg was working with Vanguard. He was sacrificing the company's profit to get rid of her and likely oust Julian for poor judgment in hiring her later.
But she couldn't prove it. Not here. Not without a computer.
Two security guards stepped forward—the same ones who had almost thrown her out months ago.
"Miss Vance," the guard said gently. "Please."
Elena took off her badge. She placed it on the table. She looked at Julian one last time.
"You once told me to leave the thinking to the people who matter," she said quietly. "If you let them do this, Julian, you're going to lose a lot more than money."
She turned and walked out, her head high, but her heart shattered into a million pieces.
As the elevator doors closed, she didn't cry. She didn't go home to panic. She went straight to the public library—the same one where she used to study when she was struggling. She sat down at a public terminal. It was slow and clunky, nothing like her Bloomberg terminal.
"Okay," she whispered, cracking her knuckles. "They think they can use numbers to frame a mathematician. Let's see them try to hide the remainder."
She began to type. She couldn't access Thorne's servers anymore, but she could access the market. If Vanguard was front-running the trade, they had to move the money. And money, like energy, leaves a trace. She was going to hunt them down.
It had been 48 hours since Elena was suspended. Thorne Capital was in chaos. The news of the corporate espionage had leaked to the press—courtesy of Greg, no doubt—and the stock was plummeting. Investors were pulling out, fearing that the "waitress genius" had been a fraud all along.
Julian sat in his office, staring at a bottle of scotch. He hadn't slept. He kept looking at the security logs. Something was bothering him: the timestamp on the keycard entry was 11:30 p.m. He pulled up the text messages on his personal phone: at 11:30 p.m. that night, Elena had texted him a joke about a complex integral equation they had discussed earlier.
If she was in the server room stealing millions, why would she text him a math joke at the exact same second?
"It's too perfect," Julian muttered. "The variance is zero."
Suddenly, his office door flew open. Greg walked in, accompanied by two men from Vanguard Global, the rival firm.
"Julian," Greg said, "we need to talk. The stock is tanking. The board is in a panic. Vanguard here is offering a liquidity injection—a merger. It's the only way to save the company."
Julian stood up slowly. "A merger? You mean a hostile takeover?"
"Call it what you want," the Vanguard CEO said, stepping forward. "But you're bleeding out, Thorne. Your little prodigy stabbed you in the back. We're here to apply the tourniquet."
Julian looked at Greg. "You planned this. You set her up."
"I'm saving the ship, Julian!" Greg shouted. "You gave the wheel to a girl who pours coffee. I'm putting the adults back in charge. Sign the deal."
Just then, the large screen on the wall—usually reserved for market news—flickered. The channel changed. It wasn't CNBC; it was a livestream.