Chapter 3
Isenbard sat at the head of the table with his chin resting on one hand. His eyes never left my face.
"The proposal is feasible. Ms. Lambert, I'm putting you in charge of this project."
Everyone stood up, and the whole conference room erupted in applause. It had been so long since I felt the thrill of enthralling the entire audience with my own abilities.
*****
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Ibsen hired a team of data recovery specialists to try to recover the data from the computers I had reformatted.
The specialists worked on the computers for about five minutes as they typed furiously on the keyboards. But soon, their pace slowed, and they began to look worried.
Finally, the team leader pushed the keyboard away in resignation. "Mr. Sandhoff, we can't take this job."
Ibsen was still fuming and immediately barked, "You think the pay is too low? I'll give you five times your original quotation."
The team leader gave a wry smile and shook his head. "It's not about the money."
"The data on this computer is encrypted with a One Time Pad, which only the encrypter himself can decrypt. He signed off as LowLyfe, who is a well-known hacker."
Ibsen froze. "LowLyfe? The one on the international cybersecurity rankings?"
"Yeah. Only LowLyfe holds the key to decrypt this hard disk, and no one else.
"Brute forcing with the wrong keys will simply yield garbage," the team leader explained.
The data recovery specialists started packing up. Before leaving, the team leader gave Ibsen a hesitant look.
"Mr. Sandhoff, if I may ask, was this computer previously used by your ex-wife?
"If your ex-wife is LowLyfe … then I advise you not to waste your time."
Ibsen was taken aback. He had always thought Weera was just a diligent secretary who only knew how to clear the paperwork and make coffee.
"She's LowLyfe?" Ibsen muttered in disbelief.
He found it hard to believe that LowLyfe, the hacker whom he greatly admired, and who had shielded Sandhoff Enterprise from numerous cyberattacks, was actually working for him as his secretary for five years.
Ibsen leveraged all his connections at Sandhoff Enterprise to blacklist LowLyfe, aka Weera Lambert, across the industry.
Anyone who hired Weera would be considered an enemy of Sandhoff Enterprise. Then Sandhoff Enterprise would sever all business ties with that company.
*****
That night, the industry summit was in full swing. Ibsen and Rudella had just entered the convention center when they saw Weera standing in the center of the crowd.
She was holding a glass of champagne and surrounded by a group of industry heavyweights. They were laughing and chatting with Isenbard by her side.
A staff member from the organizers hurried over and politely stopped Ibsen. "Mr. Sandhoff, I'm sorry, but your seat has been changed."
Ibsen was caught off guard and asked blankly, "Where have I been moved to?"
The staff member pointed to a table in the corner of the convention hall, right next to the washrooms.
"The second row has been reassigned to Ms. Weera Lambert and Mr. Isenbard Zoschke.
"Your seat... still has a pretty good view," the staff member said apologetically.
Ibsen stared at that corner table, and his whole body began trembling with rage.
Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was his mother calling.
"Ibsen, Rudella told me that vixen has ruined you? She even wants a divorce and a share of your assets?
"Don't worry. I'll bring some people to deal with her right away.
"I'll make sure she knows that the Sandhoff family is no pushover." Ibsen's mother sounded very obnoxious.
Ibsen's eyes narrowed as he watched Weera basking in everyone's attention from across the hall.
"Alright, Mom. Go ahead and make a scene. I want her name dragged through the mud," he said icily.
*****
The next morning, the plaza outside Zoschke Global's tower block was buzzing with activity.
Ibsen's mother had shown up accompanied by seven or eight middle-aged women. They unfurled a white banner with black lettering and blocked the company's main entrance.
On the banner were written these large words: "Weera Lambert abandoned her husband and children, absconded with company funds, seduced her boss, and is utterly depraved."
These middle-aged women had a clear division of labor. Some carried megaphones, others beat on drums, and one even started a live stream.
Meanwhile, Ibsen's mother sat on the ground, crying and wailing dramatically.
"What a misfortune for our family! The Sandhoff family was jinxed with such a wicked daughter-in-law.
"She's a freeloader who never contributed anything, and she stole company secrets to support her lover. This is so galling for us!"
It was rush hour, and the place was packed with onlookers.
The number of viewers in the livestream kept rising, and netizens who didn't know what was going on got swept up in the hype. The chat was filled with insults directed at me.
[Wow, this woman is shameless!]
[Feel bad for the old lady. Her daughter-in-law is pure evil.]
[How can someone like her be a senior exec? Is Zoschke Global blind?]
Meanwhile, Rudella posted a tearful selfie on social media.
In the photo, her eyes were red and swollen. The caption below stated: [Weera is so capable. I can never be her match. But one should know where to draw the line in matters of principles. As long as the company can recover, I don't mind suffering a bit.]
Before long, the internet was overflowing with hate for me.
Isenbard stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows with a frown as he watched the ruckus going on downstairs.
"Tell security to kick them out and call the police," he instructed his assistant.
"No," I said.