After smugly selling out company secrets in a bid to reach the top, the department head froze upon hearing the CEO’s cold, mocking laugh: “Thanks for helping me weed out the mole!”
I. THE TRANSACTION BENEATH DIM LIGHTS
The atmosphere inside the airtight office at midnight grew thick, broken only by the cooling fan of a laptop humming with dry, intermittent whirs. A towering, chilling skyscraper stood proudly amid a certain poor city, where the contrast between the gray slums outside and the glossy tempered glass inside formed a suffocating vise.
The department manager sat huddled in a leather swivel chair, his dark-ringed eyes glued to the computer screen. The blue light cast over his haggard, pale face, yet the corners of his mouth twitched into a satisfied, arrogant smile. He had just completed one of the most spectacular scams of his career.
All core financial data, proprietary product development strategies for the coming year, and the company’s absolutely confidential VIP client list were neatly compressed into an encrypted file. With just a few simple keystrokes, that file flew straight to the inbox of the largest market competitor—a giant corporation perpetually lusting to swallow his current company.
The underground transaction unfolded smoother than any scenario he had ever conjured in his mind. No glitches, no digital traces left behind aside from the malware he had personally cracked using anonymous software. The exact moment the payment finalized, the phone in his pocket gently buzzed. A notification from the international banking app displayed a massive number with multiple zeros standing side by side. The advance deposit for that destiny-changing password was enough for him to buy a luxury apartment and elope to any coastal region in the world when the time was ripe.
He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back to take a deep breath. In his head at that moment, there were no images of long, exhausting overtime nights, no frustrated sighs from subordinates, or the somewhat scrutinizing yet terrifyingly calm gaze of the general director. Instead, towering above all was the vision of the chief executive officer’s chair—a seat he had long coveted, now within touching distance.
According to the underground agreement with the buyer across the battle lines, come morning, when the company’s flagship project leaked and completely collapsed before the competitor, the current leadership’s reputation would hit bedrock. That would be when he, under the guise of an energetic, loyal, and strategically visionary department manager, stepped up to “save” the situation, while ascending to the pinnacle of power under the underground financial backing of the rival force.
— “Who do you think you are to keep my hands tied all these years? It’s time for the pragmatic to take the throne,” – he muttered to himself in the dark room, his voice deep, ringing with pride and venom.
He turned off the computer, gathered the documents on his desk, and strode out of the building with the arrogant steps of a victor. Night in the poor city remained shrouded in thick mist, but in his eyes, the future had never been brighter or more colorful.
II. THE SYMPHONY OF BLIND CONFIDENCE
That night, his sleep drifted through rosy dreams of wealth and power. He didn’t blink an eye at conscience or remorse. To him, morality was merely a tool used to bind the weak; while the strong were those who knew how to seize the moment, trampling over others to climb to the pinnacle of glory.
The next morning, he stepped into the skyscraper with his absolute best appearance. His expensive tailored suit was ironed flat, his hair neatly styled with gel, a professional yet triumphantly sufficient smile instantly ready on his lips. He confidently walked through the communal working area, where colleagues were hunched over keyboards with bewildered, anxious expressions due to rumors leaking from the market since early morning.
— “Everyone looks so stressed? Work is still well under control, don’t worry too much,” – he casually patted a subordinate’s shoulder, dropping a hypocritical remark with a flawlessly feigned calmness.
The subordinate raised his head, looking at him with a complex gaze, a mix of bewilderment and admiration: “Our department seems to have just had a major data leakage incident; the big boss just urgently called all department heads into the large meeting room. You should get ready.”
He smiled secretly, thinking to himself: “Right on schedule. The old general director is probably clutching his head in despair, and now is the time for me to play the savior.”
He walked toward the large meeting room located on the top floor of the building—a space reserved exclusively for the corporation’s life-or-death strategic decisions. His footsteps strode firmly, each beat of his shoes hitting the marble floor producing a resounding, solid echo like the triumphal march of a general about to enter a city he had conquered himself.
Before the meeting room door, two security guards stood at attention. Seeing him approach, they nodded slightly and opened the door. He took a deep breath, adjusted his shirt collar, flashed his most confident smile, and stepped straight inside.
III. THE COLD ROOM AND THE WAITING SMILE
The atmosphere inside the large meeting room differed drastically from what he had imagined. There was no chaotic scene, no angry shouts, no dazed expressions from the board of directors, and no frustrated sighs.
On the contrary, the room was plunged into an overwhelming, eerie silence. Tempered glass surrounding the room reflected the gray sky outside the poor city, creating a space completely isolated from the outside world.
Only a single person sat in the presiding seat—the corporation’s general director.
He was elderly, his hair frosted, with a high nose wearing thin metal-framed glasses. He showed no annoyance or breakdown. Instead, he calmly sipped hot tea from a white porcelain cup, his eyes behind the lenses fixed straight toward the door, as if patiently waiting for the arrival of a distinguished guest.
Around the long table made of solid mahogany, it was completely empty. No other department heads, no secretaries, no one else except the elderly general director and a single empty chair placed right opposite him.
The department manager paused for a beat, a sense of unease flashing through his mind but quickly crushed by arrogance. He told himself: “This old man is probably trying to suppress his breakdown in front of me. That’s right, he’s trying to save face before this disastrous failure.”
Regaining his usual composed, professional demeanor, he approached the conference table, bowing respectfully yet harboring hard-to-hide arrogance: — “General Director, I received the urgent notice so I arrived immediately. This morning’s market situation seems to have many unusual fluctuations, related to the project’s data…”
The general director still calmly set his teacup down on the table. The sound of porcelain hitting wood rang out dryly and coldly in the silent space. He raised his head, looking at the department manager with a bottomless gaze, completely ripple-free, yet sending a chilling shiver straight down his spine.
— “Sit down,” – the general director’s voice was warm, unhurried, yet carried an overwhelming authority that made him dare not refuse.
He pulled out a chair and sat in the opposite seat, feeling the coldness from the leather cushion radiate up his spine. He forced out a worried-looking smile: — “The General Director doesn’t look too well. If there’s any issue with security or information leakage, I’m ready to step up and form a special task force to investigate immediately. With my experience, I believe we will quickly find the traitor…”
Before he could finish his sentence, the general director burst out laughing. A short, dry laugh laden with sarcasm and mockery. He reached out to gently push a neat brown folder on the table toward the department manager. The folder stopped right within arm’s reach, stamped with a blazing red classified mark on its surface.
— “A traitor? Do you really think this company lacks such ordinary traitors?” – the general director raised an eyebrow, his words ringing out clearly one by one. – “Go ahead and open that folder. It is the greatest gift you have contributed to the company all these years.”
IV. THE PERFECT TRAP AND THE FATAL DECREE
His heart pounded like crazy, threatening to burst out of his chest. An ominous premonition began to gnaw at his core. Cold sweat started pouring from his forehead, seeping through his hair gel. Trembling, he reached out to flip open the brown folder.
Right on the first page greeting his eyes was not a damage report or competitor information, but a detailed copy of international bank wire transfer transaction history, accompanied by the company’s entire server access log over the past three weeks.
Most notably, it printed clear lines of source code and data files that he had imagined were perfectly encrypted and sent off at midnight yesterday. Even right beside it was a copy of message logs exchanged between him and the representative of the competing corporation—every single word, every negotiated number appeared crystal clear like a documentary exposing his entire crime.
The color of blood drained from his face in a split second. His eyes widened, both hands trembling as they dropped several sheets of paper rustling onto the table. It felt as though thousands of needles were piercing his flesh, his throat choked tight and unable to breathe.
— “This… this… Where did this come from?!” – he stammered, his voice utterly distorted, stripping away any triumphant momentum he had when entering the room.
The general director still sat there, calmly leaning back in his chair, hands clasped together over his stomach. He looked at the department manager with a half-smile, the smile of a hunter watching his prey thrash in despair.
— “Surprised, aren’t you?” – he spoke leisurely, each word striking like a hammer directly onto the manager’s head. – “You thought you were clever using anonymous software to funnel data out? You thought our corporation could be easily fooled by such cheap tricks? Unfortunately, the data you painstakingly stole and sold to the competitor… was actually just a pile of electronic garbage edited by our engineering department according to the exact script we desired.”
He froze. His mind spun. A swath of darkness collapsed before his eyes.
— “What… what does the General Director mean?” – he wheezed, his throat as dry as swallowing sand and gravel.
— “My meaning is very simple,” – the general director stood up, slowly walking around behind the desk, leaning down to stare straight into the manager’s pale face. – “Three months ago, we discovered an internal loophole, a little mouse secretly eroding the company’s foundations. Instead of alarming the grass to startle the snake, I decided to set a perfect trap, releasing forged yet seemingly highly valuable information as bait. And you… with your boundless greed and foolish conceit, swallowed that bait in the most flawless manner.”
He paused for a beat, patting the manager’s shoulder—now rigid like a stone statue—twice, before pushing the final paper from the folder forward. It was a termination decision stamped with a bright red seal, accompanied by a criminal prosecution order for intentionally leaking trade secrets and fraud resulting in asset misappropriation.
The general director smiled brightly, the most radiant and satisfied smile of the day: — “Thank you for helping me clean out the internal mole.”
V. THE FINALE OF THE TRAP-SETTING HUNTER
Outside the large meeting room, the sunlight of a new day finally pierced through the dense fog of the poor city, casting harsh rays through the glossy tempered glass.
The meeting room door swung open. Two plainclothes criminal police officers entered, walking quietly behind the department manager who sat motionless like a soulless corpse on the luxurious leather chair.
The cold steel handcuffs suddenly clamped tightly around his wrists—wrists that just hours earlier had been gleefully counting millions on a virtual account. The money in that account had now been completely frozen by court order, and the dream of the chief executive officer’s seat turned into a freefall straight down to the abyss of imprisonment.
He was wedged between the two officers, dragging his heavy steps out of the building. Through the large window glass, he saw the general director standing by the window ledge, raising his teacup for a small sip, his gaze looking indifferently down at the bustling crowds rushing back and forth below.
Greed had laid a trap, and he was the one who willingly stepped into it with his own hands, tightening the noose himself to end his life in humiliation and bitter, irredeemable ruin. The poor city continued its bustling rhythm of life, indifferent to the collapse of a man who once illusioned himself capable of tricking the entire world.
