Nothing obvious, just small changes to administrative controls. I could have protested, but instead I watched. Documented.
You seem distracted lately, Andrea said one night as we sat on the porch. Is everything okay at work? I nodded, sipping my beer. Just changes, nothing I haven’t seen before.
But these changes felt different. I was being sidelined in meetings. Emails about system upgrades stopped including me.
Younger team members were assigned to projects I would normally handle. Then I found it, a company-wide memo about modernization initiatives that had never been shared with me. It outlined a complete restructuring of the IT department under new leadership, Jason Phillips.
My position wasn’t even on the organizational chart. That same day, I discovered something else. While running a routine security scan, one of those background tasks no one else bothered with anymore, I noticed unusual patterns in our financial software.
Regular transfers to a vendor I didn’t recognize. Apex Solutions Group. A quick search showed it was registered just last year with a business address that led to a UPS store.
The authorized payments had started small but were growing each month. I didn’t say anything, just noted it, copied the records, and continued watching. Sometimes the quiet man in the corner sees everything precisely because everyone thinks he sees nothing.
The morning after I was let go, I sat in my home office staring at my personal laptop. No alarm had woken me. No commute waited.
Just silence and the weight of what had happened. Andrea brought me coffee, placing it beside me without a word. After 19 years of marriage, she knew when I needed space.
I’m going to the store, she said eventually. Need anything? I shook my head. After she left, I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a flash drive.
One of several I kept secure. Company policy strictly prohibited removing data. But years ago, when the legal team needed an audit system for tracking potential insider threats, I’d been clear about needing off-site backups.
They’d signed off on it, then promptly forgotten. I plugged it in and began reviewing the files. Internal emails.
Meeting minutes I shouldn’t have had access to. Financial records that normal employees would never see. There it was.
A full history of payments to Apex Solutions Group. Nearly $1.8 million over 18 months. The approval chain led directly to our CFO, Brian Wilcox.
I dug deeper, cross-referencing dates and figures until the pattern emerged. The payments aligned perfectly with a series of software license renewals for systems we used company-wide. But the amounts were inflated.
Sometimes by 15%. Sometimes by 20%. Small enough not to raise immediate flags.
Large enough to add up. I pulled up the business registration for Apex Solutions Group. The listed owner was Thomas Wilcox.
A quick social media search confirmed what I suspected. Brian’s brother-in-law. They were siphoning company funds through fake markup on legitimate expenses.
I leaned back in my chair, feeling something shift inside me. Not anger, exactly. Something colder.
More focused. For 17 years I’d solved problems, fixed systems, protected data. I’d been the reliable one.
The steady presence who never caused waves. And they discarded me like outdated hardware. My phone buzzed with a text from Steven, a junior analyst I’d mentored over the past two years.
Sorry about yesterday. Total BS what they did. Phillips is already moving into your old office.
I set the phone down without responding. The pieces all fit now. Daniel and the CFO needed me gone before anyone could connect the dots on their scheme.
They probably thought the evidence would disappear with me. That I was just some aging tech guy who didn’t understand modern finance. I opened my email and began drafting a message to the board of directors.
Then stopped, finger hovering over the send button. Too direct. Too easy to dismiss as the bitter accusations of a fired employee.
I needed leverage. Precision. A way to expose the fraud that couldn’t be ignored or covered up.
I deleted the draft and started making plans. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Board meeting day.
Quarterly financials would be presented. Bonuses would be approved. Perfect timing.
I closed the laptop and walked to the living room window, looking out at the neighborhood where we’d raised our kids and built our life. For the first time since yesterday, I smiled. Wednesday morning, I sat in my car across the street from Meridian’s headquarters, watching employees stream through the revolving doors.
In the passenger seat was my laptop, logged into an email account I’d created years ago for security testing. One that appeared to come from an internal company domain but wasn’t tracked in the main directory. At exactly 9.15 a.m., I sent my first move.