Julian remembered the day he joined Tier 3.
The first person he met was Emma.
She was holding a small Starbucks cup, wearing a blue coat, and gave him a quick wave with a smile.
They got along well, at least in private.
Back then, she never bothered to grab her own printing paper. She always called him over.
He got used to waiting three minutes for her before walking into the meeting room.
"We're a pair," she used to say.
Everyone knew Tier 3 had one default duo: Watanabe and Liu.
In the early days of the project, they built everything together.
She handled the logic and summaries; he did the structure and pricing.
Some nights they worked straight through, then crashed on the floor of the print room for half an hour, drinking Red Bull and waiting for sunrise.
Julian always said, "We Asians must stick together."
Then Greg invited her for tea, and everything changed.
She started compiling Greg's post-meeting notes.
Every risk Julian flagged in the meeting, every objection he raised, got pulled out and marked in red. She called it "Compliance Suggestions."
She reorganized the folder system he'd built without telling him, without asking.
"Looks more standard this way," she said.
That system was something Julian had built by hand six months earlier.
She never apologized.
She acted like it wasn't his work to begin with, just something the system had evolved on its own.
Then came the worst part.
She forwarded his latest brief in the team chat and added:
"Proud to be part of this team. Julian's model still leads."
At first glance, it sounded like praise.
But anyone could see it was a pin: if anything went wrong, it would all come back to him.
Greg didn't say a word.
But the system had already started logging.
Error field: J. Watanabe
Bypassed review: J. Watanabe
Execution owner: J. Watanabe
Julian ran into her in the pantry.
She was leaning on the counter, phone in hand, smiling as she spoke.
"I know, I know… he won't cause trouble. I'll handle it.
Greg says I should be confirmed by the end of the year, as long as I stay low-key for now…"
She turned and saw him.
Two seconds of silence.
Then she gave a quick smile.
"You're here too."
Julian didn't reply.
He looked at the BlackBerry in her hand.
Call time on the screen: 14:03.
Right after the compliance team's lunch break.
The following week, her desk was moved to the right outside Greg's office.
No one explained.
"They said she's more process-oriented."
She applied for co-reviewer access.
From then on, every document Julian submitted had to go through her signature.
She signed fast.
She signed clean.
She signed like she'd never known him.
Once, he watched her do it in person.
Emma finished, handed him the file, and smiled.
"Greg feels more at ease when you're around."
Julian took the paper and said,
"You've changed fast."
Emma smiled back.
"If I don't get this full-time offer, my visa's done. Can you help me stay?"
Julian didn't answer.
He knew he couldn't blame her.
He didn't have the power to keep her here.
That night, after everyone left, he went into the print room and deleted all the templates they had worked on together.
Every last one.
At the time, he was still deep into the Hong Kong deal.
Greg handed him another project on top of that.
Julian did the whole thing: the files, the structure, the model.
But when he submitted it, something was off.
The first time he uploaded a draft, the system skipped all checks and immediately popped up: "Approved."
Signed by Greg.
The notes section said only one thing: "Management override."
He took a screenshot and sent it to Risk.
Three hours later, he got one line back:
"Noted. Per management instruction."
The second time, he submitted a revised pricing structure.
An hour later, the system again returned with: "Approved."
This time, Risk didn't even reply.
A single line was added to the log: "Received. No further action."
Greg sent a follow-up. As usual, short.
"Go with it. Let me know if you face resistance."
The third time, Julian didn't ask.
He worked in silence, backing up every record as he went.
Greg got bolder.
Once, he skipped Legal entirely and finalized a contract on his own.
Julian sat by the window, watching one skipped checkpoint after another flash across the screen.
Then he understood.
Greg wasn't placing trust in him.
Greg was using him.
Risk didn't care.
The system stayed silent.
Everyone was fine with it.
The faster he moved, the cleaner he executed, the more Greg approved.
It was clear: the company had already accepted what he was
A dog that didn't say no.
From then on, Greg stopped following up.
Each email had only one line:
Let me know if you face resistance.
It wasn't encouragement.
It was a reminder:
You have no right to refuse.
Julian began to learn obedience.
No more direct models.
No conclusions.
Every step had "just checking."
Every email ended with "please confirm."
Hi Greg, just checking before adjusting the structure.
Let me know if this aligns with your latest feedback.
Greg replied quickly, casually, like giving orders to a PA.
Yes. Go ahead.
Looks fine.
Clean it up.
Sometimes he just sent voice notes.
Julian saved all of them.
Transcribed.
Archived.
Backed up.
On the surface, he followed every rule.
Even the group chat started to joke:
"Madman's going by the book now?"
"Madman's finally behaving?"
"What's he planning?"
Emma saw the message while updating Greg's permission folders.
She didn't respond.
She stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Julian sat across from her, pretending not to notice.
He opened a new report, wrote in standard format, one section at a time.
Each ended with the same phrase:
Let me know if this works.
He knew this wasn't calm.
It was the stillness before the storm.
He was waiting for the other side to slip.
At 3:00 a.m., Julian returned to the office.
The floor was empty.
He didn't turn on the lights.
He sat down at the spare terminal opposite his desk.
The machine was clean.
He logged into the backend using an old intern account from years ago.
The permissions were low, but just enough to access logs.
He bypassed the dashboard, pulled up every "Approved without review" action from the past month.
There were a lot.
He filtered by name: Greg.
The first anomaly was two weeks ago.
A large asset transfer.
System said "Manager reviewed."
No timestamp.
No Risk tag.
Just a blank placeholder: "Pending fill."
The second was a draft model for an M&A deal.
System marked it as "Sent for external review."
But Julian remembered: that file was never submitted.
It was only mentioned in a chat.
Which meant
It didn't exist in the system.
The third was from three days ago.
Greg had skipped all steps and labeled a client quote as "Final."
Execution orders were sent.
Everyone clicked "read."
The Legal and Compliance sections were empty.
Julian logged all three timestamps.
He opened Excel, created a sheet, and listed every record where the process was skipped.
An hour later, he started mapping.
Each project became a dot.
Standard paths were gray lines.
Override actions marked in red.
Greg's name appeared at every center point.
Like the node of a web.
Some paths bypassed Risk.
Some skipped Legal.
All led straight to Execution.
It looked like someone had opened doors behind the system.
Julian triple-checked the data.
No mistakes.
Then he saw Greg's method.
He didn't intervene every time.
Only when the system was relaxed
Or when teams were overloaded
That's when he quietly marked "Approved."
Most logs appeared at night or early morning.
Like he knew exactly when no one would notice.
These weren't accidents.
Greg understood the loopholes.
And he knew exactly who to use.
Julian printed the chart.
Pasted it onto the meeting room's glass wall.
The room was empty.
He sat by the window.
Turned off his phone.
Faced the wall.
He stared at the red nodes for a long time.
Then slowly, he smiled.
He had memorized every weakness, every moment, every shortcut.
He thinks I'm trained.
I'm just learning how he moves.