They mocked me as nothing more than the hospital janitor, laughing whenever I walked past with a mop in my hands. One arrogant surgeon even sneered, “Stay in your lane. People like you don’t belong in rooms like this.” I said nothing. Then the hospital board suddenly entered, every executive stood up, and the director called me “Sir.” As their faces went pale, I realized it was finally time to reveal why I had been watching them.

It was nearly midnight when I used my maintenance override key to access the administrative archives behind the surgical suite. Melissa Crane, the hospital’s chief supply manager and Hale’s primary financial co-conspirator, had left her office terminal unlocked.

I slid a flash drive into the USB port.

Within ninety seconds, the encrypted scripts I had written pulled every hidden purchase order, modified inventory manifest, and duplicate billing record from the hospital’s internal server.

The scope of the fraud was staggering. Over three million dollars in fake invoices, expired surgical supplies repacked and sterilized in unauthorized facility rooms, and kickbacks funneled through shell companies connected directly to Hale and Crane.

As the progress bar on the screen hit one hundred percent, the office door clicked open.

Melissa Crane walked in, holding a cup of espresso. She froze when she saw me standing beside her desk, a gray uniform shirt on, holding a feather duster as if I had just been dusting the monitor.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Melissa snapped, her face flushing with sudden anger. “This is a restricted administrative zone! Get out before I have security throw you out on your ear!”

“Just cleaning the vents, ma'am,” I said evenly, keeping my posture submissive. “Dust builds up around these terminals.”

Melissa marched over, slamming her coffee cup down on the desk and checking her monitor. Fortunately, my script had unmounted the drive milliseconds before she walked in. The screen showed only standard inventory spreadsheets.

“Stupid,” she muttered under her breath. “Get your cart and get out of my sight. And if I catch you in this wing again without a direct work order, you won't have to worry about cleaning floors anymore—you’ll be sweeping the parking lot in the rain.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I murmured, grabbing my cart and wheeling it out into the hallway.