My Boss Fired Me in Front of Everyone - Nine Minutes Later, Someone Used My Name to Reroute $28 Million in Cargo

We didn't sneak into the Citadel. We drove straight up to the heavily fortified front gates at dawn.

The Laurentian Mountains were blanketed in thick white snow. The facility looked like an ultra-modern corporate retreat, all steel and tinted glass, surrounded by fifty-foot concrete walls and automated gun turrets.

Julian stopped the Audi at the primary checkpoint. Four guards in white winter tactical gear raised assault rifles, laser sights painting our windshield.

I stepped out of the car with my hands raised.

“My name is Emily Carter,” I yelled into the freezing wind. “I have the Cortex algorithm! I want to negotiate with the Director!”

They didn't negotiate. Two guards grabbed me, zip-tied my wrists with brutal force, and threw a black canvas hood over my head. I heard them drag Julian out of the driver’s seat, followed by the sickening sound of a rifle butt cracking against his skull.

I was dragged through a maze of echoing hallways, the air growing warmer and smelling distinctly of industrial bleach and surgical iodine. The elevator descended for a long time. Level Sub-4.

They pulled the hood off.

I blinked against the blinding surgical lights. I was strapped to a cold stainless-steel operating table in the center of a massive, glass-walled laboratory.

Standing over me was an elegant, silver-haired man in a bespoke suit worn under a pristine white lab coat.

“Ms. Carter,” the man smiled warmly, like a doctor greeting a patient. “I am Dr. Aris Thorne. Welcome to the Citadel.”

“Where is my sister?” I demanded, struggling against the heavy leather restraints.

“Chloe is resting comfortably in the holding pens,” Dr. Thorne said, tracing a gloved finger along my jawline. “Her chimera blood type is extraordinarily rare. We have a buyer in Dubai willing to pay ninety million for her vital organs. But I am a reasonable man. I will release her to you right now, in exchange for the exact cypher code you used to lock my offshore servers.”

“Bring her into this room,” I said, glaring at him. “When I see her walk out that door, I’ll type the code into your mainframe myself.”

Dr. Thorne chuckled softly. “You misunderstand your position, Emily. I don't need you to type the code. You see, when Arthur told me you built a custom macro database on your personal server, I realized you were a genius. But human memory is flawed. A genius like you wouldn't just memorize a fifty-character encryption key.”

He picked up a high-powered medical scanner from a silver tray.

“You hid the cypher somewhere nobody could ever steal it without your permission,” Thorne whispered.

He ran the scanner over my right forearm. The machine beeped wildly.

Thorne smiled, picking up a surgical scalpel. “You micro-engraved the cypher onto a subcutaneous RFID chip and implanted it under your own skin. I don't need your cooperation, Emily. I just need your arm.”

The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.