I snapped the laptop shut, put it back in my briefcase, and headed for the nearest subway station. My meeting with Mike was set for seven sharp at his office downtown. It was time to put the machinery in motion—the kind that doesn’t stop once it starts.
Mike’s office on a quiet downtown block smelled like leather chairs and old law books. At seven in the morning, the city outside his big windows was only beginning to stir under a low gray sky. He spent forty minutes going through the files from my flash drive. His face stayed unreadable, but his fingers tapped faster and faster against the desk.
“Dima, you need to understand something,” he said at last. “Unauthorized access to protected corporate data is a legal minefield. If we handle this wrong, they’ll try to charge you with theft of proprietary information.” “And if we handle it right?” I asked. “Then you’re a protected whistleblower exposing major financial crimes,” he said. “Not a thief. A witness.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I need to call someone I know in the U.S. Attorney’s office,” he said. “People have been circling Kazantsev for two years, but they’ve never had the direct link between him and the offshore accounts. You just brought them the missing key.”
At that exact moment, the office door flew open hard enough to hit the wall. Elena stormed in, flushed with anger, breathing fast from the stairs or the adrenaline or both. Her heels clicked sharply across the hardwood floor. “You ruined everything last night,” she snapped. “Roman is furious. He canceled your promotion.”
I looked at her the way you look at a stranger who happens to know your name. “Elena,” I said, “you slept with my boss in front of half the leadership team.” “This is how business works,” she shot back. “You’re just too naive to understand it.” Mike cleared his throat, stood up, and stepped in before I had to answer.
“Mrs. Morozova,” he said in the measured tone lawyers use when they’re about to ruin someone’s morning, “let me explain your position. Your affair may become relevant in divorce proceedings, especially if there are financial ties involved. And if Mr. Kazantsev becomes the subject of a criminal investigation, your relationship with him is likely to become public.” He paused. “The tabloids will enjoy that.”
That got her attention. She turned pale. “What criminal investigation?” she asked. “A federal corruption investigation,” Mike said. She looked at me then, and for the first time that morning I saw real fear in her face. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered. “I already did,” I said.
She grabbed her purse and left without another word. The door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the framed diplomas on Mike’s wall. Three hours later, I was sitting at a metal table in a secure conference room inside a federal building. Across from me sat Special Agent Sophia Tucker and two prosecutors. Sophia flipped through the printouts from my flash drive with open professional interest.
