The Art of Corporate Espionage

Elena stared at the PowerPoint slide, her palm sweating against the conference room table. The quarterly review wasn't going well.

"I'm just saying," Marcus continued, his voice dripping with manufactured concern, "perhaps we need someone with more experience running this division."

He'd been positioning himself like a fox in the henhouse for months—subtle, smiling, pretending friendship while sharpening his knife. Elena had trusted him. Had even mentored him after his divorce last year, when he'd shown up at her door with that rescued dog, looking so broken she'd overlooked his ambition.

She should have known.

The spinach stuck between Marcus's front teeth would have been funny if it weren't so pathetic. He'd stolen her client list. Copied her presentation. Taken credit for the Morrison deal that had kept the company solvent. And now he was systematically dismantling her reputation in front of the VP.

"Marcus," Elena said, her voice steady despite the fury burning through her chest. "Did you happen to mention that the Morrison contract was my proposal?"

He froze. The smile faltered.

"Or that you accessed my files at 3 AM last Tuesday? I have the IT logs."

The VP's head turned. Marcus's face went pale.

Elena stood up. "I'm done cleaning up after you. I'm done being your stepping stone. And I'm certainly done pretending you're anything other than what you are—a small, frightened man who'd rather destroy someone else than build something of his own."

She walked out, running into her old boss in the hallway. His knowing smile told her everything: they'd known. They'd been watching Marcus too.

Some foxes get caught. Others become the hounds. Elena had never been prey.

That night, she adopted Marcus's dog. She'd always liked that animal more than its owner anyway.