I picked up the company pen and signed the document without comment. Linda blinked, clearly thrown by the lack of protest. In her line of work, people usually argued, threatened lawsuits, or broke down. “You’re not going to contest this?” she asked. “No,” I said, standing. “Am I free to go?”
The head of security personally escorted me to the freight elevator and told me my personal belongings would be boxed up and sent by courier. The elevator doors closed, cutting me off from the office for good. And then, for the first time in twenty-four hours, I laughed. Not because any of it was funny. Because Roman Kazantsev had just made the dumbest legal move of his life.
By accusing me in writing of stealing confidential data, the company had formally acknowledged that the data existed—and that it mattered. An hour later, Mike called. “They followed the script perfectly,” he said. “Retaliatory firing of a whistleblower. Textbook. Sophia’s thrilled. They’ve added it to the case.”
The next three weeks turned into a long chess match between lawyers. Elena hired an expensive divorce attorney who immediately filed to freeze our joint accounts, claiming I had stolen company funds and might flee the country. Mike responded with detailed statements from Elena’s own credit cards. The records showed weekly spending of nearly three thousand dollars on upscale restaurants, spa appointments, and designer shopping.
The judge took one look and denied her motion. That evening Elena sent me a short text: “You’re going to regret this.” I looked at it, gave a tired little smile, and didn’t bother answering. Then, early on the morning of December 23, federal agents made their move.
I watched the live news coverage from Art’s couch with a satisfaction so deep it surprised me. Black SUVs surrounded the glass office tower that had once housed our firm. Agents in tactical vests carried out box after box of records and hard drives. News cameras caught Roman Kazantsev being led out in handcuffs. His face had gone the color of wet concrete. The expensive tie was gone. So was the swagger.
At the same time, agents were searching his large home in an upscale suburb outside the city. A news helicopter circled overhead, feeding live footage to every station in town. Late that night, Sophia called me, sounding tired and pleased in equal measure.
