My Boss Caught Me Sabotaging His Company—Then Realized My Own Family Set Me Up For It
Part 1
I spent three months playing the clumsy, terrified maid for the most dangerous man in the city.
Greg owned the shipping lanes, the docks, and half the politicians in the district.
My real job was to dismantle his corporate empire from the inside out.
Working as a ghost operative for a rival syndicate, I was ordered by my commander, Craig, to cripple Greg’s supply lines.
For ninety days, I deliberately tripped over expensive carpets and knocked over wastebaskets.
Keeping my head down and stuttering whenever spoken to became my second nature.
Greg actually pitied my pathetic persona.
That misguided pity was the perfect cover for my surveillance.
On a freezing, rainy Tuesday night, the perfect opportunity finally presented itself.
A mug of boiling black coffee slipped from my trembling hands directly onto his master shipping ledger.
Spilling that drink was absolutely not an accident.
That handwritten ledger held the physical schedules for his untraceable incoming shipments.
Without those records, his entire operation was completely stalled for weeks.
Greg didn’t yell or throw things across the room like a common street thug.
A cold, terrifying stillness settled over him instead.
He fired me on the spot, demanding I clear out my locker and leave the building within five minutes.
Walking out into the freezing rain, my heart pounded with the electric thrill of a flawless sabotage.
Unfortunately, Greg was far more observant than my agency had ever anticipated.
He found the military-grade audio bug I had carefully planted near the leg of his desk.
Before I could even reach the revolving doors of the lobby, his bulky security team cornered me.
Playing the terrified, minimum-wage maid was no longer a viable survival strategy.
A single, calculated strike to the lead guard’s windpipe dropped him to the floor instantly.
Using the second enforcer’s forward momentum against him, I hurled his massive frame through the reinforced glass door.
Vanishing into the stormy city streets, I headed straight for my designated emergency safe house.
The location was a sparse, abandoned boiler room situated on the roof of a condemned garment factory.
Locking the heavy steel door behind me, I pulled out my heavily encrypted satellite phone.
A quick call to Craig confirmed the ledger was destroyed and Greg was entirely blind to our upcoming offensive.
My commander promised an armed extraction team would arrive at my location in twenty minutes.
Something in his gruff voice felt entirely wrong.
He deliberately used an outdated operational code word for the safe house.
Promising a twenty-minute extraction across the city in this severe storm was physically impossible.
Unless his heavily armed men were already mobilized and waiting nearby.
Unless they weren’t coming to extract me to safety at all.
A heavy metallic thud echoed violently from the concrete stairwell outside my door.
Heavy boots hammered up the steps with terrifying speed.
Five men were moving fast and loud, completely ignoring standard stealth protocols.
These aggressive footsteps did not belong to a rescue team.
This was a professional hit squad sent to eliminate a loose end.
Craig had cowardly sold me out to the highest bidder to save his own skin.
Knowing Greg had locked down the city and wanted blood, my commander decided a turf war was too expensive.
Handing my lifeless corpse over to Greg was his twisted, desperate peace offering.
Trapped in a confined space with a fifteen-round magazine, I had absolutely nowhere to run.
Grabbing a green propane tank from a camping stove, I unscrewed the brass valve and let the nauseating gas fill the room.
When the hit squad finally breached the heavy door, I fired my weapon directly into the invisible gas cloud.
The resulting concussive explosion blew the point men backward into the dark stairwell.
Sprinting blindly through the thick, choking smoke, I burst out onto the external fire escape.
Automatic gunfire chewed through the rusted iron railing just inches from my head.
My only exit strategy was a blind, three-story drop across an alley to the neighboring gravel roof.
Pushing off the slippery ledge, I jumped into the freezing abyss.
I hit the gravel roof incredibly hard, tumbling violently across the loose stones.
My shoulder slammed into a raised ventilation duct with a sickening, audible crunch.
Blinding agony flared through my left arm as the joint dislocated completely from the socket.
Dragging my battered body into the abandoned factory below, I left a distinct trail of blood on the cracked floor tiles.
Hiding inside an insulated industrial freezer, I awkwardly aimed my pistol at the heavy stainless steel door.
Waiting for Craig’s men to sweep the building and finish the job was my only remaining option.
The heavy door groaned open, spilling dim factory light into my freezing sanctuary.
However, the man standing in the doorway wasn’t wearing Craig’s syndicate colors.
Greg stood there, perfectly tailored and completely lethal, pointing his suppressed weapon directly at my face.
