Mike Ross didn't need a plan.
Not at first. Not until he understood the battlefield.
The office at Pearson Hardman hummed with quiet tension. Harvey was gone, chasing some high-profile merger no one outside the 50th floor could comprehend. Louis Litt prowled nearby, smelling opportunity in every envelope. And Mike? He was alone, surrounded by the faint scent of leather chairs, printer ink, and ambition.
Sheldon Cooper's laptop sat open on his desk, a fortress of code, algorithms, and access points that Mike could read like sheet music.
Mike didn't touch it. Not yet. He watched. Cataloged. Calculated.
The Harvard archives were just data, lines of code, digital dust. But in Mike's hands, they became leverage. Evidence. Proof. Survival.
He didn't just need a transcript. He needed a story. One that would withstand the scrutiny of Pearson Hardman, Harvey Specter, and Louis Litt—simultaneously.
His fingers danced across the keyboard. Not typing. Conducting. Every keystroke opened doors, bypassed protocols, and whispered secrets of centuries-old digital locks. Sheldon's "Z-Code" was genius, but Mike was the predator interpreting genius into action.
Three minutes in, and he already had the complete record of the "Mike Ross" persona—every enrollment, every grade, every fleeting campus achievement. Fiction disguised as fact. Perfection.
Louis entered without knocking. "What are you doing in here?"
Mike didn't flinch. "Reading Harvard history."
Louis sniffed. "Shouldn't you be… figuring out some pro bono case or—"
Mike didn't look up. "You're late, Louis. That's your first mistake. Being late tells people you don't value time. Time is leverage, Louis. And you, my friend, are going to need leverage if you want to survive the next sixty days here."
Louis's face twitched. Mike didn't care.
He executed the final keystroke.
Files downloaded. Verification faked. Signatures rendered. The digital ghost of a Harvard transcript sat neatly on his tablet, complete, flawless, untouchable by anyone who didn't know it had never existed.
Mike leaned back. The predator smirked. Not for the building. Not for the firm. For himself.
The photographic memory, the gangster instinct, the strategist's precision—they all converged. A life built on adaptation, on survival, on foresight. A life that refused to fail.
He knew Harvey would be impressed. Louis would smell something, but he'd never find the source. Donna might suspect. Maybe Rachel, if she looked too closely.
But no one would ever question the record.
Not now. Not ever.
Previous Life Wisdom:
"When you can replicate reality better than reality itself, you control perception. Control perception, and you control the people who act on it."
Mike closed the tablet, letting the office's silence wrap around him. He wasn't just a law associate. He wasn't just Harvey's secret weapon. He was the ghost of Harvard itself, a digital phantom walking the floors of Manhattan's most elite law firm.
He stood, straightened his tie, and left Sheldon's office like a man who owned both the room and the rules.
Outside, the city thrummed with oblivious life. Mike smiled faintly. They thought they saw him. They hadn't seen anything yet.
Status Update:
Digital Asset Secured: Harvard transcript and records forged flawlessly
Leverage Established: Louis Litt unaware, Harvey ready to trust
Next Goal: Consolidate the network and prepare for the first high-profile trial
Strategic Advantage: Impeccable evidence, untouchable credibility
Mike stepped into the elevator, eyes reflecting the New York skyline beyond the glass. Every byte, every algorithm, every shadow in the city—already accounted for.
First move complete. The game was now officially his.