POV Floris
I had all the evidence. Screenshots, wire transfers, digital breadcrumbs that would bury Sia so deep she’d need archaeologists to find her career.
But Eric was at some bullshit corporate conference across town, and guess who was right there beside him, playing the perfect loyal assistant?
Yeah. Sia fucking Morgenstern.
The Amsterdam Convention Center looked like every other soulless corporate gathering spot—glass, steel, and the dreams of middle managers who thought networking was a personality trait.
I could see Eric through the floor-to-ceiling windows, standing near a display about “Revolutionary Surveillance Solutions” like he wasn’t currently living through his own personal surveillance nightmare.
And there was Sia, hovering beside him like a designer-clad vulture.
I marched through the main entrance, laptop bag slung over my shoulder like I belonged there. Which, technically, I didn’t. Being fired tends to revoke your conference privileges.
“Excuse me, miss—” Some security guard with a clipboard tried to intercept me.
“Press,” I said, flashing my old MIT student ID like it was a media pass. “Digital forensics journalist. Very important story about corporate espionage.”
He bought it. Because people are sheep, and confidence is currency.
I weaved through clusters of suits discussing market disruption and paradigm shifts, making my way toward Eric’s little promotional corner.
Sia spotted me first, her face cycling through surprise, panic, and murder in about two seconds flat.
She moved to intercept me, all smiles and corporate charm.
“Floris! What a surprise. I thought you’d left for Boston already.”
“Cut the shit, Agatha Inez Sharma,” I said, loud enough that several nearby conversations paused.
Her mask slipped for just a second. Pure panic flashed across her features before the professional composure snapped back into place.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. Just like you don’t know about the wire transfers to Timothy Hartwell. Or the video of my brother. Or the fifteen years you’ve been selling Eric’s secrets while playing the tragic victim.”
More heads were turning now. Corporate types love drama almost as much as they love tax loopholes.
“Floris,” Sia said, her voice dropping to something dangerous. “You’re clearly having some kind of breakdown. Maybe we should call security—”
“What’s going on?” Eric’s voice cut through the crowd like a blade.
He looked between us, taking in my laptop bag, Sia’s barely controlled panic, and the growing audience of corporate rubberneckers.
“Eric,” Sia started, “Floris is here making wild accusations—”
“I have proof,” I interrupted, pulling out my laptop. “Digital forensics. Your all loyal Sia here has been playing the long con since day fucking one.”
“That’s impossible,” Eric said, but something in his voice suggested he was already running calculations.
“Is it? AgathaInezSharma47. Ring any bells? Because the initials spell A-I-S, which backwards is—”
“Sia,” Eric finished quietly.
The crowd was really paying attention now. Nothing like public corporate drama to spice up a boring tech conference.
“You stupid little bitch.” Sia’s composure finally cracked completely. “You think you can just waltz in here and destroy everything I’ve built?”
“Everything you built on lies and corporate espionage? Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.”
“Fifteen years,” Sia snarled, and suddenly the polished professional was gone, replaced by something raw and ugly. “Fifteen fucking years I waited for him to see me. To understand that I was perfect for him. That I knew him better than anyone.”
Eric went very still. “Sia—”
“And then some lousy American bitch with daddy issues and a dying brother shows up, and suddenly I’m invisible again.” Her voice was rising, drawing even more attention. “Do you know what it’s like to watch the man you love fall for someone else? Someone inferior?”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed. This was worse than I’d thought.
“So yes, I leaked the videos. Yes, I’ve been feeding information to Timothy. And yes, I arranged for your precious brother to have a little accident with his medication schedule.”
She turned to Eric, desperation replacing rage. “It was all for us. For you. So you’d stop being distracted by worthless girls who don’t understand your brilliance.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the corporate types had stopped pretending to network.
Eric looked at Sia like he was seeing her for the first time. “You’ve been in contact with Timothy Hartwell.”
“We’ve been… corresponding. About business opportunities.”
“You mean you’ve been fucking him while selling my company’s secrets.”
Sia’s face went white. “It’s not like that—”
“How long?” Eric’s voice was dead calm, which was somehow more terrifying than if he’d been screaming.
“Two years. But Eric, you have to understand—”
“Two years of corporate espionage. Two years of pillow talk with my biggest competitor. Two years of playing the wounded victim while stabbing me in the back.”
“I did it for you!”
“You did it because you’re obsessed and delusional.” Eric pulled out his phone. “Security? I need Sia Morgenstern escorted from the building. Immediately.”
“Eric, please—”
“And someone call the police. Corporate espionage, conspiracy, probably a dozen other charges I haven’t thought of yet.”
As security moved in, Sia turned to me with pure hatred in her eyes. “This isn’t over.”