Chapter 22- Shadow Files

The weekend passed in a haze of silence and minor humiliation. William had continued his campaign of cryptic errands and smug glances, while Samantha’s cold war grew hotter.

On Monday morning, I arrived at the office earlier than usual, hoping for a moment of peace. I sat at my desk, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I organized William’s meetings. He hadn’t spoken to me since Friday night, but I knew he noticed everything. The man didn’t blink without intention.

Just as I was printing his 10:00 a.m. agenda, a loud clink echoed near my desk. I turned to see Samantha standing with a smug grin, holding a travel mug.

“Oops,” she said. “Guess my coffee slipped.”

Brown liquid had splashed across the edge of my desk and dripped down the stack of files I had just finished organizing.

I stood slowly, suppressing the urge to lash out. “Be careful next time.”

She smiled wider. “Maybe keep your desk clear of important things if you’re going to be working in such a sensitive area.”

The innuendo was clear. She didn’t think I belonged here—and wanted me to feel it.

As I started blotting the files with tissues, she leaned in. “You know, Lily, no one really knows how you got this job back. One day you’re fired. Next day you’re the CEO’s secretary? Sounds like more than just luck.”

I glared at her. “Unlike you, I don’t use gossip to climb ladders.”

She chuckled. “Oh honey, I don’t need gossip. Just observation. And I see plenty.”

She strutted away, leaving behind the scent of cheap perfume and even cheaper jealousy.

I clenched my fists, willing myself to focus. I had bigger things to worry about.

Later that afternoon, William had me go through his system to sort out files for an upcoming board meeting. The moment his office door closed behind him, I slipped into his file directory. My pulse raced as I searched through the corporate folders, scrolling past layer after layer of perfectly named categories.

Then something caught my eye.

A folder marked “Personal—Archived”.

It wasn’t protected. Odd.

I hesitated. But curiosity had been my downfall before—and it would be again.

I clicked.

Inside were a dozen documents and subfolders. Most of them were labeled with boring names like “Old Contracts” or “HR Reviews.” But one document had a subject line that sent a jolt through my chest.

Subject: Project Override

From: [e-mail],

To: [e-mail]:

“Payment received. Files deleted and changed from Lily S.’s project folder as instructed. Complaint also submitted anonymously to ensure delay. Request complete.”

I reread the message three times, my hands turning cold.

Someone had sabotaged my project.

And it wasn’t William.

I scrolled further.

Another email, labeled “Follow-up: Complaint”, detailed how fake reports were submitted regarding my supposed misconduct—accusations of negligence and laziness.

The anonymous sender name was unreadable, but the tone? Familiar. Sharp. Cold. Calculated.

A knot formed in my stomach.

Could it be Natasha? Or someone else in HR?

I minimized the window quickly as William walked back in.

He looked at me briefly. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just a bit dizzy. Must be the fluorescent lights.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Leave the calendar. Take the rest of the day off.”

“I still have—”

“I said go.”

I didn’t argue.

Back at my desk, Samantha was waiting with another paper in hand.

“Oh, Lily,” she said, too sweetly. “There’s been a small mix-up. I believe you accidentally signed off on the wrong lunch vendor for tomorrow’s department meet.”

I frowned. “No, I checked it. Twice.”

She shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to take the fall. And considering your position…”

I snatched the paper and scanned it. The order had clearly been tampered with.

“You changed this,” I said sharply.

“Prove it,” she whispered.

And then she walked away.

I stared after her, fuming.

I wouldn’t fall for her games. Not now.

That evening, William insisted me to come back to his mansion as there was a work I need to finish. I locked myself in my room and opened my laptop. I typed Kevin’s name into every contact database I had access to. He had been in IT before getting transferred to another branch.

And according to his LinkedIn, he was back in the city.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I had a lead.

But before I could message him, there was a knock.

The caretaker peeked in. “Ma’am, dinner is ready. Sir is dining outside tonight. You may eat alone.”

I nodded.

Fine. I didn’t want to face him anyway. Not until I found out the full truth.

I returned to my laptop.

Typed:

Kevin, this is Lily Stephens. I need to talk. It’s important.

Sent. Later after work, we did dinner and some work.

At work the next day, Samantha had clearly upped her game. She had rearranged the filing system on my computer—flipped folders around and renamed critical labels.

“Just cleaning up,” she said when I confronted her.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I rechecked everything.

Then something else happened. A formal HR memo arrived in my inbox. I opened it carefully.

Subject: Behavioral Complaint Investigation – Lily Stephens

Filed by: Samantha R.Allegation: Disrespectful conduct, insubordination, and delay in project deliveries.

My jaw dropped.

She was trying to get me fired.

Again.

By the end of the day, I was barely holding it together.

But then my phone buzzed.

New message from Kevin:

“I know why you’re contacting me. We need to talk. Alone.”

“Meet me tomorrow. 6 p.m. Cafe Gridlock.”

I swallowed hard.

This was it.

The beginning of the truth.

And maybe the beginning of the end for someone else.