The failure was public.
That was the worst part.
The emergency meeting was called at 10:17 a.m., barely an hour after legal flagged irregularities in the revised proposal. By the time Chen Le Xin entered the conference room, the board members were already seated, expressions grim.
Kai Ying stood at the head of the table.
She didn't look at Le Xin.
Which meant this was bad.
"Let's get straight to it," one of the directors said. "The vendor compliance documents were altered. Financial risk projections don't match the original data."
Le Xin's stomach dropped.
"That's impossible," she said immediately. "Those files were locked."
Kai Ying finally turned.
Her gaze was sharp—but not accusing.
"Someone accessed the system last night," Kai Ying said. "From inside the company."
The room stirred.
Sabotage.
Le Xin's mind raced. She replayed every step. Every upload. Every permission setting.
"I didn't authorize any changes," Le Xin said flatly.
"I know," Kai Ying replied.
The certainty in her voice made several people pause.
One director frowned. "How can you be sure?"
"Because the altered projections weaken the project's approval odds," Kai Ying said. "If Chen Le Xin wanted this to pass, she wouldn't sabotage it this way."
Le Xin looked at her sharply.
Kai Ying didn't meet her eyes.
But she had just defended her.
The board exchanged glances.
"Regardless," the director said, "this puts the entire launch at risk. We need a solution. Fast."
Kai Ying didn't hesitate. "Give us forty-eight hours."
"That's optimistic."
"It's realistic," Kai Ying said. "If Chen Le Xin and I handle it together."
Silence hit the room.
Le Xin stiffened. "Together?"
The director nodded slowly. "You're the only two who fully understand the structure. Fix it—or the project is terminated."
No one asked if Le Xin agreed.
The meeting ended five minutes later.
The door closed.
Only the two of them remained.
"You knew," Le Xin said.
Kai Ying loosened her tie slightly. "I suspected."
"You still let it reach the board."
"I needed to see the scope," Kai Ying replied. "And now I know."
Le Xin crossed her arms. "Someone wanted this project to fail."
"Yes."
"And wanted me to be blamed."
Kai Ying looked at her then. Directly. "Not while I'm here."
The words were clipped. Professional.
Still—something shifted.
"Who benefits?" Le Xin asked.
Kai Ying walked to the whiteboard, uncapped a marker. "Three departments. One external consultant. And one internal manager whose proposal was rejected last quarter."
Le Xin narrowed her eyes. "Zhao Ming."
Kai Ying nodded. "He has access. And motive."
Le Xin exhaled sharply. "He hates me."
"He hates losing," Kai Ying corrected. "You were collateral."
Le Xin watched her write—fast, efficient, precise.
"So what," Le Xin said, "we play detectives now?"
"We rebuild," Kai Ying said. "Then we expose the breach."
Le Xin hesitated. "You trust me?"
Kai Ying stopped writing.
Turned.
"I wouldn't have asked for you otherwise."
The answer was simple.
It still unsettled her.
"Fine," Le Xin said. "But we do this my way too."
Kai Ying's brow lifted. "Explain."
"We split the work," Le Xin said. "You handle board-facing risk control. I rebuild the technical structure and audit the data trail."
Kai Ying studied her for a moment.
Then nodded. "Agreed."
That was it.
No power play.
No threats.
Just necessity.
---
They worked until midnight.
The office lights dimmed automatically, leaving only the glow of their screens. The silence between them wasn't comfortable—but it wasn't hostile either.
"You missed a dependency loop," Le Xin said suddenly.
Kai Ying leaned over. Too close.
Le Xin stiffened but didn't move.
"…You're right," Kai Ying said. "Good catch."
Le Xin glanced at her. "Don't sound surprised."
"I'm not," Kai Ying replied. "I just don't compliment often."
Le Xin snorted quietly. "I noticed."
Another pause.
Then Kai Ying spoke, lower. "Someone wanted you to fail publicly."
Le Xin's fingers slowed. "I'm used to that."
Kai Ying looked at her for a long second.
"I'm not," she said.
Le Xin didn't respond.
But for the first time since this began, she didn't feel like she was fighting alone.
Outside the glass walls, the city slept.
Inside, two rivals worked side by side—not as enemies, not as allies—
—but as the only ones capable of stopping what was coming next.
And whoever started this war?
They were about to regret it.
---
Thank you for reading my novel
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