The floor is a mess.Half-packed boxes, laptops abandoned mid-use.Desks left in chaos, as if the day ended abruptly—and no one came back.The air smells faintly of stale coffee and panic, like a room that’s forgotten its purpose.One woman’s on the phone, crying quietly.Her mascara’s running down her face.Another’s fumbling through a drawer, looking for something that doesn’t exist.IT’s roaming the halls like sharks, ripping cords from monitors without a word.
Stewy’s desk is empty.Not “stepped out” empty.Cleared.Scrubbed.Gone.Like someone deleted him from the system before sunrise.
I make it to my office.Sit.The screen flickers to life, and the first thing that hits me is the silence.There are still voices, still movement.But thatcorporate rhythmI’ve come to know, the smooth hum of bullshit?It’s gone.Dead.
I open my inbox.
Legal.
Comms.
Crisis Ops.
Names I don’t recognize.
There are 80 emails waiting.In less than five hours.
I don’t read most of them.Doesn’t matter.I know what they say.
But there is one I open.
SUBJECT: CONFIDENTIAL – IMMEDIATE LEGAL ACTION ANTICIPATED – SHERGAR TRIAL DISCLOSURE
The body of the message might as well be blank.Legalese and veiled panic.“Pending regulatory review.”
“Breach of confidentiality.”
“Violation of protocol.”
“Federal investigation initiated.”
Translation:they’re fucked.
I glance up.A few people are packing.Others are just sitting, stunned.HR hasn’t even sent the “all-staff” email yet, but everyone knows.Shergar’s done.
They’ll probably call it a “strategic wind-down” or a “temporary operational pause.”
But let’s be honest.This is ashutdown.
AndIstarted it.
I open the next email.
CONFIDENTIAL TRIAL MORTALITY FILES LEAKED TO PRESS – PUBLICATION LIVE
Same headline.Different sender.
I don’t need to click the link.I already know what it says.
231 confirmed.
Audit logs pulled.Internal charts circulating.The press found the pattern.The one I sent them.
All I did was send it.
But it doesn’t matter.
The story’s out, and someone’s going to pay for it.