79
The morning started with a strange stillness.
Ericka was in her office early, blazer draped over her chair, sleeves rolled just enough to hint at the controlled tension humming under her skin.
Her espresso sat untouched. Amanda had already brought it in—extra strong, no sugar—before returning to her desk with a stack of documents and a schedule already color-coded and polished.
Everything looked right.
But something felt off.
At 10:12 AM, it started.
The first ping came through the internal company messaging system. A confused note from one of the design interns:
"Hey, are we supposed to have two versions of the Fall Capsule deck? I just saw one in the shared folder marked FINAL_2_FINAL. But that's not the one Amanda sent last night."
Amanda read it, blinked, and immediately clicked into the shared folder.
Her stomach dropped.
Files were missing. Moved. Renamed. Reuploaded under her name—but not by her. Someone had tampered with the finalized pitch materials. Entire product sketches were swapped. Logos distorted. Even the mockup with the eco-certification banner was gone.
She didn't breathe for a full ten seconds.
Across the office, Ericka's door opened just as Amanda stood up.
Their eyes met.
"Tell me you didn't see the capsule deck," Amanda said tightly.
Ericka's expression hardened. "I did."
They walked swiftly toward the glass conference room together, Amanda already pulling up the version history on her tablet, her fingers moving fast but steady.
She had a look she wore for things like this—crisis, sabotage, the usual workplace chaos that came from being this high up in fashion and expectation.
It was calm, but clipped. Professional, but ready to throw hands.
Inside the conference room, the team was already murmuring. Heads turned as the two women entered. The head of PR was on her phone. Two of the design assistants looked visibly rattled. Ava stood near the back wall, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed like she was putting something together.
"Who accessed this deck overnight?" Ericka asked the room, voice low and sharp.
"I thought only you, Amanda, and the creative team leads had permissions," someone offered.
Amanda nodded. "We did. Until last night. Someone elevated access permissions after 9:30 PM. I just checked the logs."
Ericka's eyes narrowed. "Who."
Amanda turned the tablet toward her.
A name blinked in the corner of the screen.
B. LARKIN – Temporary admin override.
Brielle. One of the newer hires in digital operations. She wasn't even on the design team. Her job was logistics—launch coordination, server maintenance.
"I'll bring her in," Ava said quickly, already halfway to the hallway.
Ericka nodded once, her posture blade-straight.
Fifteen minutes later, Brielle stood in the room, visibly shaking. Her hands were clasped so tightly the knuckles had gone pale. Amanda recognized the look—panic without defense. Guilt that had bloomed too fast to hide.
"I—I didn't mean to cause anything," she stammered. "I thought I was helping."
"Helping how?" Ericka asked. Not unkind, but cold. Freezing, even.
"There was a version of the deck I thought looked cleaner," Brielle admitted. "So I—updated it."
Amanda blinked. "You updated a C-suite confidential presentation and uploaded it under my name?"
"I didn't mean for it to be a big deal," Brielle mumbled. "I thought I could make it better."
"Better?" Ericka stepped forward slowly, like she was pacing a chessboard. "You risked a seven-figure contract with the Tokyo Sustainability Summit because you didn't like the formatting?"
Brielle didn't answer.
Amanda took a breath. "Did you think we wouldn't notice?"
"I didn't think it would matter—"
Ericka cut her off. "It does. It always matters. You just tampered with our public brand identity, and in doing so, you've also implicated Amanda—and me."
The room was quiet enough to hear the hum of the HVAC.
Amanda stepped in then, voice calm but unshakable. "This isn't just a mistake. It's sabotage. And if it wasn't intentional, it's negligence at a level we cannot afford."
There was a long beat. Ericka crossed her arms.
"You're suspended," she said finally. "Effective immediately. HR will follow up with further steps."
Brielle opened her mouth, but Amanda's look cut her short.
She left, escorted by HR within the hour.
The office stayed tense the rest of the day.
Amanda and Ericka held three back-to-back meetings to ensure no other files had been altered.
They re-ran every protocol. Amanda redid the entire presentation deck from scratch—twice.
Ava stayed close, quieter than usual but efficient, checking each file line by line.
The rest of the team fell into a rhythm, cautious and wide-eyed.
By late afternoon, Amanda and Ericka found themselves alone in Ericka's office again.
Ericka collapsed into her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You think this was really just formatting? Or is something else going on?"
Amanda leaned against the desk, watching her closely. "I think someone wanted attention. Or credit. Or maybe even to impress you."
Ericka's gaze flicked to Amanda's.
"You think I impress people that easily?" she asked with a dry smile.
Amanda smirked back. "No. I think people want to impress you that badly."
Ericka tilted her head. "Including you?"
Amanda shrugged, walking around the desk and settling on the edge of it. "I don't need to impress you. I just want to be the one you trust when everything hits the fan."
Ericka leaned forward slowly. "You already are."