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I was just about to leave for the day, but it doesn’t look like that is going to happen now. I can see Martin, my project manager, twisting Sabrina’s arm to come see me. Nothing with Martin ever takes less than thirty minutes. All I have gotten lately coming from his quarters is trouble. Today, I could do with a break. I have a nasty stress headache that just won’t go away. I really am in no mood for another lengthy session with Martin, going over gargantuan troubles on the African front.
Sabrina has caved, and Martin strolls in.Thank you, Sabrina. You are supposed to be my gatekeeper. What good are you when everybody waltzes right in, right past you?I criticize unfairly. Not even a typhoon can stop Martin if he sets his mind on something.
“Howdy Martin. What have we got today?”
Fifty minutes later, we are still huddled over paperwork for our multi-billion-dollar African project.
"Boss," Martin says, his brow furrowed in concern, "The Xekenge report only got to us three weeks ago. The fact that The Miami Tribune has this spread can only mean one thing. We have a singer.
These info dumps and security breaches are getting out of hand. Someone's feeding the papers that information. I have an idea. How about we lay a trap for them? Take one person at a time, feed them false information, then see where the leak is."
"That's a wonderful idea, Martin," I reply, nodding in agreement. "We could start with the department heads—give each of them access to a different set of fake documents. If a story breaks using any of those details, we'll know who's responsible."
"Exactly," Martin says, his eyes lighting up. "And once we identify the mole, we can hand them over to the authorities or use that information as leverage against them."
"Let's get started on creating those fake documents," I suggest, determination settling in. "Needless to say, this needs to be handled discreetly and quickly. We can't afford any more leaks. Can you keep this just between us two?"
Martin nods, and we dive into the task at hand. Our minds are focused, and our resolve is strong. The traitor must be identified and dealt with.
As Martin and I delve deeper into the intricacies of creating deceptive documents, it becomes evident that this mission ismore than just a strategic move to plug leaks; it's a battle for the integrity of our entire enterprise. The weight of responsibility sits heavily on Martin's shoulders, his commitment unwavering.
His eyes, usually calm and composed, now flicker with a fierce determination. This isn't just about business; it's personal. The betrayal gnaws at the core of our professional ethos. Each unauthorized disclosure feels like a stab at the heart of the hard work, dedication, and trust we've invested in building this empire.
Martin, with a sense of duty that surpasses the confines of his role as a project manager, is on a mission to unmask the traitor. His dedication to the cause is palpable as he tirelessly sifts through data, meticulously planning each move to ensure the success of our counterstrategy.
As we work late into the night, Martin's fury at the traitor becomes more pronounced. His hands, once steady, now clench into fists at the thought of someone sabotaging not only our projects but the collective dreams and aspirations of everyone involved. His voice, usually measured, takes on an edge, expressing the depth of his anger.
"If we catch them," Martin growls, his eyes ablaze, "I won't rest until justice is served. This isn't just about business secrets; it's about trust and loyalty. Whoever is behind this deserves the harshest consequences."
I can feel the intensity in his words, and it resonates with the urgency of our mission. The traitor must be stopped, not just for the sake of the company but for the principle of integrity that Martin holds dear.
In the days that follow, Martin's commitment only intensifies. Sleep becomes a luxury as he devotes every waking moment to the cause. He seems to be fueled by a burning desire to protect what we've built, to restore the shattered trust, and to ensure that the traitor faces the consequences of their actions.
As the plan unfolds and we lay the trap for the mole, Martin's resolve remains unbroken. He is a force to be reckoned with, a guardian of our collective integrity, and his dedication becomes a beacon of strength for the entire team. The mission is not just about plugging leaks; it's about reclaiming our honor, and Martin is leading the charge with unwavering determination.
***
It is 9:45 PM, and I finally click send on the email I was working on. Time to go home. I am so hungry, I could eat a frog, but I am too tired to stop and grab something on my way; plus, my head is killing me. I will just go straight home and order something from Uber Eats.
The balmy Miami air quickly assaults my nostrils as I step outside my office building, filling my lungs with ocean air, the city of South Miami buzzing around me, indifferent to the weight that rests on my shoulders.
Tony's words from earlier this afternoon still linger in my head, a haunting melody I can’t seem to put to bed. Her mother's life is hanging by a thread, a fragile existence in the balance, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I am trapped in this nightmare I seem to have created for myself, fighting so many fires from all corners that I couldn’t go to Zurich even if I could, but that decision isn’t viable anyway.
Even though I have made this grand gesture to help them all in their time of need, they all still hate me. Some more than others, but I think it is safe to say they all hate me, even Tony.
As I walk towards the parking garage, the echoes of my conversation with Tony replays in my head. I can't escape the heart-wrenching possibility of Tony's mother passing away— the prospect of her slipping away— leaving Tony to face yet another devastating loss.
I can almost see it—the void that would consume Tony if her mother doesn't pull through: the pain etched on her face; thesilent screams echoing in her eyes. It's a scenario that tugs at the edges of my conscience, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the relentless march of time.
I want to be in Zurich so badly, but I can’t. I already sent the brigade over to be with her —Dick, Jenny, and Lola. My being there would be counterintuitive and possibly not very welcome.
My offering a helping hand has turned out to be a paradoxical dance of disproportional complexities; a gesture meant to alleviate suffering exacerbating wounds of the past.
Dick and Jenny's outright opposition, as is so frequently expressed, still lingers in my mind, their disdain palpable, yet Tony's pragmatic acceptance, rooted in the urgency of her mother's condition, speaks volumes about the person that she is.
The dichotomy of acceptance and rejection swirls in the air as I approach the parking garage, Father O’Malley's words still echoing in my ears, a reminder of the delicate balance I tread. To help, yet to be vilified; to offer solace, yet to bear the weight of judgment.
