Thank You For Destroying Evidence
Language: en
When the Vice President kicked my office door open, I was clutching an X-Acto knife, my hands shaking uncontrollably. He shoved his phone inches from my face. In the grainy security footage, a figure was rifling through files in the server room. The silhouette, the posture, the tan trench coat—it was unmistakably me. "You backstabbing bitch! We caught you red-handed on camera. Get ready to rot in a cell!" His roar hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I stared at the screen, watching my "ghost" skulk around, and then, inexplicably, I started to laugh. A sharp, jagged sound that cut…