Corporate Espionage at Little League

Elena sat on the metal bleachers, her sunglasses hiding eyes that'd been watching the Miller family for three weeks. The spy assignment had seemed straightforward when the agency approached her: infiltrate Miller Tech, prove they were violating the EPA compliance order. Easy money for someone with her skills.

But then came the Saturday baseball games.

She'd memorized the way David Miller's face lit up when his son stepped up to the plate. How he screamed himself hoarse cheering for a team that finished last every season. The way he helped struggling players from opposing teams, never once checking his watch despite the millions probably on the line back at the office.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Elena jumped. The woman beside her smiled—David's wife, Sarah, carrying a cooler filled with ice water and Gatorade. "I've seen you here three weeks running. You're always taking notes."

Elena's heart hammered. "I'm a consultant. Working remotely."

Sarah's eyes crinkled with knowing warmth. "David's the same. Always working, even at Tommy's games." She handed Elena a bottle of water. "He thinks he's hiding how stressed he is about the EPA investigation. Says they're being framed by a competitor."

The ice in Elena's chest crystallized. Framed. She'd never questioned the assignment, never verified her client's claims. Now the water bottle sweated in her hand, condensation dripping like the cold realization that she might be destroying an innocent man's life.

On the field, David high-fived his son after a strikeout. "That's okay, buddy! You'll get 'em next inning!"

"What happens," Elena found herself asking, "if the investigation destroys his company?"

Sarah's smile faltered. "We lose everything. But David says the truth always comes up like water—eventually."

The final out was called. Families dispersed. Elena should have been documenting the conversation for her report. Instead, she found herself running toward her car, laptop burning in her bag, the stolen files on her hard drive suddenly feeling like radioactive waste.

Someone else would finish the job. But not her. Not today.