Chapter 5: The Data Breach
“Dad,” Maya whispered. “Let’s just go. Please.”
“Not yet,” I said.
I hauled Sterling upright and shoved him into his executive chair.
“Unlock your computer,” I ordered.
“Go to hell,” he spat, blood trickling from his nose onto his shirt.
I lifted the baton and pointed it at his knee.
“Okay! Okay!” he yelped.
He typed in his password. The monitor flickered on.
I sat on the edge of the desk, baton still aimed at his throat.
“Maya,” I said. “Come here. You’re an analyst, right? You know how to follow patterns.”
Maya stepped closer, still trembling. She saw exactly what I was doing—not just hurting him, but dismantling everything he’d built.
“Check the hidden folders,” I instructed. “Check the cloud backups. Men like him save souvenirs.”
Maya took the mouse. Her hands shook, but she navigated quickly.
“Oh my god,” she murmured minutes later.
She opened a folder called HRfiles_Private.
It wasn’t HR files. It was footage. Hundreds of recordings. Secret cameras throughout the office. Bathrooms. Emails about payouts. Blackmail against board members.
“He records everything,” Maya said, horrified. “There are… there are so many women. I recognize some.”
“Send it all,” I said.
“To who?”
“Everyone,” I said. “The Board. The SEC. The NYPD tip line. And send a copy to the New York Times.”
“No!” Sterling lunged forward. “You can’t! That’s my life! That’s my empire!”
I backhanded him. He slumped back, crying.
“You forfeited your empire the second you touched my daughter,” I said.
Maya typed rapidly. The progress bar crawled across the screen. Uploading…
“It’s done,” she said. “It’s out there. Once it hits the servers, it’s unstoppable.”
I glanced at Sterling. He stared at the screen, watching his downfall in real time. His phone started ringing. Then the office line. Then his cell again.
Alerts flooded in. The Board reacting. Reporters pinging.
“You’re finished,” I told him.
I stood and collapsed the baton.
“We’re leaving,” I said.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the bar and handed it to Maya. “Drink. Clean up a bit.”
We headed for the elevator.
“Wait,” Sterling whispered. Slumped in his chair, shattered. “Who are you? Really?”
I turned.
“I’m Frank,” I said. “The mechanic.”
