3: scapegoat
1044 Words
I had been at Brooklyn Group for exactly three hours.
I knew because I kept checking the time, as if proof of how little I’d done could somehow protect me.
It didn’t
I hadn’t even finished setting up my email when the message appeared on my screen. HR: Conference Room B. Immediate attendance required. My stomach dropped.
Around me, keyboards clicked and phones buzzed, but no one looked at me—or rather, no one wanted to be seen looking at me.
I stood slowly, my legs unsteady. This is ridiculous, I told myself. I just got here.
Conference Room B was cold, windowless, and designed to make people nervous. Three people sat inside already.
The woman in the center wore rimless glasses and an unreadable expression. To her right, a man in a gray suit flipped through documents. To her left, a woman with a polite smile that felt sharp around the edges.
“Julie Dims,” the woman with glasses said. “Please sit.”
The door closed behind me. The sound echoed.
“Today is your first day at Brooklyn Group,” she continued. “Correct?,
“Yes,” I answered immediately. “I resumed this morning.”
The man in gray glanced up. “And yet your login credentials were used to access and alter a board-level financial report.” I blinked. “What?”
“A report sent to the board less than an hour ago,” he added. “Figures adjusted. Projections changed.”
“That’s not possible,” I said quickly. “I haven’t worked on any report. I was assigned a desk. That’s all.”
The smiling woman tilted her head. “So you’re saying someone else used your credentials?”
“I barely even know how the system works yet,” I insisted. “I just received my access today.”
The man slid a printed document across the table. My heart sank. My name was on it—clearly listed as the editor.
“This is the version the board received,” he said calmly. “And this”—he tapped the page—“is your login ID.”
My fingers trembled as I picked it up. The numbers were wrong. Entire conclusions had been twisted.
“I didn’t do this,” I whispered. “I swear.”
The woman with glasses folded her hands. “Miss Dims, do you understand how this looks?”
I swallowed. “I was handed a file and told to deliver it. That’s all.”
“By whom?” she asked.I hesitated.
I remembered the irritation on my manager’s face, the way the file had been pushed into my hands without explanation. “My department manager,” I said quietly.
Silence followed.
The man leaned back. “First day. No history. No allies. And suddenly a sensitive report tied to millions is altered under your name.”
The smiling woman’s voice softened. “Some would call that fraud.”
My chest tightened. “I didn’t take any money.”
“We didn’t say you did,” she replied smoothly. “Yet.”
The room tilted.
“If the board determines this was intentional,” the man added, “the company reserves the right to involve law enforcement.”
My breath caught. “Police?”
“Corporate embezzlement is not a small matter,” the woman with glasses said. “Especially not at Brooklyn Group.”
My hands clenched into fists. “You think I came here on my first day just to scam the company?”
No one answered.
That silence told me everything.I was expendable. A knock sounded.
The door opened before anyone could respond.
Nataliel Brooklyn walked in.The room changed instantly.Everyone stood
“Sit,” he said coolly.
They obeyed.
Nataliel took the empty chair beside me. He didn’t look at me at first.
“Why is my intern in an HR interrogation without my knowledge?” he asked calmly.
“There was an irregularity—” the woman with glasses began.
“I’m aware of the report,” Nataliel interrupted. “I’m also aware that Julie Dims resumed work today.”
The man in gray stiffened. “Sir—”
“She received her access this morning,” Nataliel continued. “Which means she couldn’t have authored or altered a report prepared days ago.”
Silence fell.
Nataliel slid another document onto the table.
“Access logs,” he said. “Her credentials were used from an executive terminal.”
The smiling woman’s smile faltered.
“I want this investigation closed,” Nataliel said. “Immediately.”
“Sir, the board……
“I’ll speak to the board.”
No one argued.
I was dismissed ten minutes later with forced apologies and empty assurances.
Outside the room, Nataliel stopped walking.
“You see now?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
We rode the elevator in silence.
Back in his office, Nataliel closed the door and gestured toward the desk.
The contract lay there.
“This is the protection,” he said. “HR can’t touch you if you’re tied to me.”
I stared at the pages. “So if I refuse,” I said slowly, “next time you won’t step in.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I can’t protect someone who refuses my terms.”
My chest tightened.
“This isn’t marriage,” I whispered. “It’s leverage.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “And I won’t lie about that.”
I thought of the word police. Of fraud.
Of how quickly my future had almost ended.
Slowly, I picked up the pen.
My hand shook as I signed.
When I stood to leave, Nataliel spoke again.
“There’s one more thing.”
I froze. “What?”
“Your reassignment takes effect immediately,” he said. “And tonight—”
I turned sharply. “No.”
“My grandfather expects to meet you,” Nataliel said. “At my residence.”
My heart dropped.
“When?” I whispered.
“Tonight.”
I walked out knowing one thing. This wasn’t protection. It was ownership. And finally understood the truth— I hadn’t just been framed. I had been chosen.
- Writer
