Trust doesn't break all at once.
It rots.
Quietly. Slowly. From the inside out.
I saw the rot in their eyes before they spoke.
The next morning, the office felt suffocating. The kind of air that pressed against your chest, heavy with things unsaid. People avoided eye contact. Conversations ended the moment someone walked too close.
No one trusted anyone anymore.
Perfect.
—
My sister arrived early that day.
Too early.
She sat in the waiting area outside my office, legs crossed, posture stiff, eyes darting toward every passing employee. When she finally entered, she didn't bother with pleasantries.
"You told them about the emails," she said.
I looked up from my screen calmly. "They asked."
"You knew what would happen," she snapped. "Now they're questioning everything."
I leaned back slightly. "They should."
Her nails dug into her palm. "You're trying to destroy us."
I smiled faintly. "No. I'm letting the truth breathe. You said you believed in honesty."
Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "Don't twist my words."
"I don't have to," I replied softly. "They're already twisted."
She froze.
For a moment, I thought she might scream.
Instead, she lowered her voice. "He thinks you're manipulating the board."
I raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"
"Yes," she said quickly. "And he's furious."
Good.
Anger makes people careless.
—
Later that afternoon, I passed my husband in the hallway.
He didn't look at me.
That alone told me everything.
The man who once controlled every room now walked like the floor beneath him might collapse at any moment.
I slowed my steps deliberately.
"Are you avoiding me?" I asked gently.
He stopped.
Turned.
"You told them things you had no right to tell," he said.
I met his gaze calmly. "Everything I shared was documented."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
"It was," I replied. "I own the shares. I sit on the board. And I signed nothing without understanding it this time."
That last sentence hit him harder than any accusation.
"This time," he repeated slowly.
Suspicion flickered in his eyes.
Dangerous suspicion.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
I smiled sweetly. "Exactly what I said."
I walked away before he could press further.
Let him wonder.
—
By evening, the paranoia was visible.
Meetings held without invitations.
Doors locked unnecessarily.
Phones turned face-down on tables.
The board demanded individual statements.
Separately.
Alone.
They thought isolation would protect them.
They didn't realize it would expose them.
—
My ally called just before sunset.
"They're accusing each other," he said. "Blaming unauthorized access. Claiming forgery."
"Who started it?" I asked.
"Your sister."
I laughed quietly.
"She always did panic first."
"She told them your husband ordered her to move the files."
I closed my eyes briefly.
And there it was.
The first betrayal among traitors.
"And what did he say?" I asked.
"He denied everything. Said she acted alone."
I smiled.
"Good," I murmured. "Let them tear each other apart."
—
That night, I stood by the window again, watching the city glow beneath me.
In my past life, this was when I begged.
This time, I waited.
Because when trust dies, loyalty follows.
And once loyalty is gone—
Everything collapses.
—