One click could save the company, but it might cost Lacy her life.
Writer’s Prompt
The rain against the window sounded like gravel hitting a coffin. Lacy Woodrow stared at the screen, the blue light etching years onto her face. As an accountant, she lived for the balance; as a tech whiz, she lived for the ghost in the machine.
The ghost had a name: Ron Sours.
The trail was a jagged line of digital breadcrumbs leading from the company’s pension fund, through a labyrinth of shell companies, and ending in a Cayman account that hummed with eight figures. It all led back to the IP address behind the heavy mahogany door at the end of the hall.
Ron wasn’t just a thief; he was a predator. She remembered the sound of the Vice President’s jaw cracking when Ron didn’t like the quarterly projections. The man had a temper that didn’t just flare—it incinerated.
Lacy looked at the “Transfer” button she’d coded. One click would reroute the stolen millions to an anonymous whistleblower escrow. Another click would blind the office security cameras for exactly sixty seconds—just enough time to vanish into the midnight fog of the city.
The floorboards groaned behind her.
The heavy scent of expensive bourbon and stale tobacco filled the small cubicle. A shadow stretched across her desk, long and jagged.
“Working late, Lacy?” Ron’s voice was a low growl, vibrating with a hidden edge. “You always were too diligent for your own good.”
She felt the cold sweat prickling her neck. Her finger hovered over the mouse. If she clicked, she was a hero, but she was also a target. If she closed the laptop, she was an accomplice.
Ron leaned over, his massive hand resting on the back of her chair. “Show me what’s so interesting.”
How does Lacy escape the room? Does she click the button, or does Ron see the screen before she can act? You decide her fate.