Aria had been working on a major project for weeks, a spreadsheet for potential investors, something that could secure a massive deal for the company. She'd been obsessing over it, staying late, triple-checking every number.
I had her login information. I'd watched her type her passwords hundreds of times, memorized the patterns.
One night, after she'd left for the day, I logged into her work computer. Found the spreadsheet. Made small changes, numbers just wrong enough to notice, formulas that didn't calculate correctly.
Then I sent it to the investors from her email.
The next morning, she'd be called into the HR's office. She'd be fired for incompetence, for costing the company a crucial deal.
And she'd come to me devastated, broken, needing someone to tell her she wasn't worthless.
She'd need me again.
The way she used to.
I waited for her call. Waited for the text telling me what had happened. Waited for her to fall apart so I could be there to catch her.
