A Double-Edged Sword

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and swiped to dismiss the notification. Time for my meeting with Mr. Grant. I rode the elevator up to the executive top floor, and the pretty secretary ushered me into the inner office. “Mr. Byron Johnston” she announced.

Mr. Halsey Grant, the founder and CEO of New Wayz Associates, sat behind an imposing cherry wood desk wearing a smartly tailored blue power suit and red tie. Without looking up from his laptop, he gestured to the large brown leather chair facing the desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Johnston.”

My stomach lurched, and the greasy reflux of the pizza I ate for lunch burned my throat. I’m always nervous whenever I meet with upper management, but more so today, with the big boss himself. I sat down and took a couple of deep breaths to calm my nerves. I wondered why he summoned me to a meeting today. I have a niggling suspicion, but hope I’m wrong. It can’t be that.

After a few moments clacking away on the keyboard, Mr. Grant rose and extended his hand. “Byron,” he said, his voice warm and resonant, exuding authority. “Thanks for coming in today on such short notice. I know you have been very busy lately.”

Did he just emphasize the word “busy?” I probably imagined it. “Yes, very busy,” I agreed, my voice raspy from the lingering acid burn. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. It’s not often I meet with the CEO.”

“No need to be nervous,” he chuckled. “I’m human, just like you. Not much different from you except I have a lot more years on this chassis, and” — he ran his hand through his thinning gray hair — “a lot less hair.”

And a lot bigger paycheck, I snickered inwardly.

He walked to the water dispenser by the wall, filled a paper cup and handed it to me. Just what I needed. He is a perceptive man. “Thanks,” I said.

“And how was your weekend?”

“Oh, good, real good,” I answered. “We had a great time camping at the lake. Did some skiing, then I caught a seven-pound largemouth. Man, that critter really put up a fight.”

“Sounds fun,” said Mr. Grant. “I don’t get a chance to do that much these days. But I’m glad when our hardworking employees can let work go for a weekend and have a good time.”

There it is again, the way he emphasized “hardworking.” I feel uneasy. Is it my nerves? My imagination? Something else?

“And how is Mrs. Johnston doing? I hear you have a little one on the way?” 

“Yes, we’re due in about three months, I said. “She…we…are so excited about starting a family. She is literally glowing these days.”

Mr. Grant sat down in his oversized office chair. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you guys. Children are such a blessing” He clicked the mouse and looked at the screen for a moment, then back at me.

“You may be wondering why you’re here today.” 

“I do, sir.”

“Well, there’s a particular file I’d like to discuss.” Mr. Grant swivelled the laptop my way and, pointing at the screen. “It’s the project you’ve been working on called Quantum Consumer Behavior. This is your project, right?”

He turned his head to me, and our eyes locked. “What can you tell me about it?”

My heart beats my ribs like a sledgehammer, and my head goes for a swim. Uh oh…he knows.

The top secret file with proprietary code worth a fortune. The purloined file that no one could ever know I took. The file I planned to sell to our competitor, and finally be able to leave this miserable company a rich man.

How did he know? Did someone on my team blow the whistle? Was it that conniving little snitch, Pete? Always throwing me under the bus and reporting me for everything that goes wrong. Or that backstabbing little witch, Lisa? Dismissing everything I do, and taking credit for everything she doesn’t do.

It was for noble reasons. There’s a baby on the way after all, and my salary would not be nearly enough. The risks were great, and the rewards greater, but I knew that if anyone ever found out — and how could they? — that there would be hell to pay. 

“Take your time,” said Mr. Grant. “I want to hear all about what you did on this project. I want to hear it from you firsthand.”

He expects a confession. I can’t do it. I can’t tell him the truth. It will be the end of my job here, the end of my career, the end of me.

I spilled the beans. “I… I…took it.”

He looked puzzled. “You took it? Tell me about it.”

Oh crap, crap, crap! I didn’t mean to say that. I’m toast.

Mr. Grant leaned forward in his chair, his eyes laser-focused, boring a hole into my head, turning my brain to jello. “Go on,” he urged.

“I took the file home on a flash drive one day to work on it, but I never had time. I never opened it. It was always safe with me, and I brought it back the next day.” God, I’m such a liar.

“Hmm…I see…well thanks for telling me Byron. I’m surprised; this is not what I expected to hear.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, scrolled the screen as though looking for something, then turned his gaze back at me. 

“I had no suspicion of any illicit activity from you, nor did your teammates. Your work ethic, attention to detail, and adherence to the highest security protocols impressed your team so much that they brought it to my attention.”

“My team?”

“Yes, Pete specifically. He raved about you, said you were the smartest, hardest working team leader he has ever worked with.”

“That‘s why I called you in today, to discuss this project and your future with the firm.” 

Oh no, I really blew it. Mr. Grant knew nothing after all. Me and my guilty conscience and big flapping mouth. I could taste the panic rising, and it didn’t taste like pizza this time.

“You didn’t call me in to fire me?”

Mr. Grant shook his head. “No, of course not. Why would I? I was going to offer you a promotion to Chief Cybersecurity Officer. A position with the highest level of security and a fat salary. You’ve done exemplary work for the firm, and I thought you were ready for the next step.”

He said “was” and “were,” not very good words in this context. I need to say something fast if I don’t want to lose my job. Fall on my sword. Be contrite. Be honest. Or lie like the devil. Whatever it takes.

“Honestly, Mr. Grant, I only took the file home to work on it in my spare time. I’ve been a loyal, hardworking employee for ten years, and I want this project to succeed. Our company succeed. That’s why I was working so hard on it.”

“Your confession is commendable,” said Mr. Grant, “but your honesty is tainted. Whatever your intentions, you know that removing intellectual property offsite violates company policy and is never completely secure. We have zero tolerance for that.”

“I had high hopes for you, son, but I doubt the veracity of anything you say now. You’ve broken trust and breached security protocol. I have no choice but to terminate your employment immediately.”

He pressed the intercom button. “Security please.”

I hate groveling, but I will do it. I have a baby on the way, and I can’t lose this job. “Wait, I’m fired? Really? I was honest with you. Please give me a second chance,” I pleaded. “Put me on probation, or unpaid leave, or demote me, but please don’t fire me.”

“There are no second chances with such an egregious act. You compromised the security of the project, and now we will have to modify the code to safeguard it from any competitors you may try to sell it to. I’m sure you still have the file, even though you may deny it. The temptation is too great.” 

“I deleted the file from my flash drive, sir. I would have never considered selling it.” Even as the words — the lie — left my lips, the frown on his face said it all. He didn’t believe me.

“The company’s rules are clear, Mr. Johnston, and I can’t make exceptions even if I wanted to. There is no future for you here. Your time with New Wayz Associates is done. Security will escort you out of the building. “

“But…but…” I sputtered as two uniformed security guards entered the office. They placed their hands on my shoulders and guided me out of the office, down the elevator to a back door, and out of the building. The door clanged shut behind me with a final, job-ending thud.

I squinted in the sunlight of the cool October evening. With the pressure of the meeting over, my mind was suddenly as clear as the cloudless sky above, and I realized my terrible mistake. At a critical moment, when my conscience overruled my deceit, I failed to see that Mr. Grant was clueless about my doings, and he had something else entirely in mind. I confessed — in a moment of panic — only to seal the fate I feared.

I learned a hard lesson that day, a lesson I hoped would keep me out of trouble next time. That truth is a double-edged sword that cuts both ways, and not easily wielded in a cutthroat corporate world.