THE INTERN FILE

THE ADAM FILE: PART 4: DAMAGE CONTROL

This is fiction.
This is what happens when silence is institutionalized — and the wrong man is underestimated until it's too late to contain the fallout.

By now, the Board had stopped pretending. Meeting rooms were booked under vague titles like "Special Ops" or "Contingency Alignment." Senior leaders spoke in hushed tones, phones face-down, blinds drawn. Human Resources started printing NDAs like election flyers. No explanation. Just formalities and pen-ready urgency.

A new internal group — hastily named the "Internal Response Taskforce" — was assembled overnight. Its sole objective?

Neutralize Adam.

But there was one problem. They couldn't touch him. Not directly. Because no one could determine what he had... or where it was.

Then came the leak.

Not from Adam. From someone else.

A junior staff member — nervous, eyes darting around during her "voluntary statement" to HR — whispered: "I think I gave him my credentials... I didn't know it would go this far." Months earlier, she'd helped Adam bypass minor system restrictions. He said it was for a "final year research project." He was polite. Quiet. Nothing alarming.

She complied. No red flags. Now? She had vanished. Not suspended. Not reassigned. Not escorted out.

Vanished.

Desk cleared. Access revoked. WhatsApp last seen: 3:12AM. No update since.

That was the tipping point.

Management finally acted. A formal letter was sent to Adam's company inbox: "Your internship is hereby suspended pending investigation." It was cold. Minimal. Just enough to satisfy internal protocol. His access card was deactivated by 7:00PM that evening.

The next day, Adam didn't show up. Relief swept through the office. The storm had passed — or so they thought.

Until 8:15 AM.

The lights flickered.

Once.
Twice.

Then, the main printer in Accounts began running — uncommanded. Sheet after sheet spat out — unprompted — without any computer linked to the job. Each page was blank.
Except for a single line printed at the bottom: "Remove me if you want. But the files are not with me anymore." – A

Panic.

The IT team tried to isolate the printer driver. HR scrambled to draft a containment memo — but no one wanted their name attached. Legal considered invoking a full internal lockdown. And the Board?

Silent.
Because they understood something the others didn't:

This wasn't a reaction.
This was Adam's next move.
A planned escalation.

And it worked.

Staff began purging old chat logs. Department heads re-checked past procurement approvals. One manager took emergency leave and never came back.

There was no leak. No retaliation. Just silence.

Which, somehow, was more terrifying.

Because when they tried to trace the location of the copied files — they hit a wall. Adam had backed them up. But not to the internal cloud. Not to a USB.

Somewhere else. Somewhere outside the firewall. Maybe a secure cloud repository. Maybe a dead drop to a third party. Maybe a scheduled release protocol.

No one knew.

And that unknown — that lack of control — made everyone sweat.

📌 Last item found in Adam's locker before IT reimaged his laptop: A sticky note. Written manually. No digital signature. No timestamp.

"You took my ID. I'll take your sleep." – A