Chapter 3 War Of The Documents

• The office printers screamed like jet engines. Paper spewed into every collection tray on the ninth floor, cascading onto the gray carpet in endless white waves.
• "Ransomware!" someone shouted near the water cooler. "Unplug everything!"
• Two men from IT sprinted down the hallway holding spare network cables. Their foreheads glistened under the bright office lights.
• Frank stood at the end of my aisle, gathering sheets as they hit the floor. "Historical printed evidence! Get your souvenir copy right here! One dollar!"
• "He hacked our system," I said, pointing at my frozen monitors. "This is a cyber attack."
• A technician named Tim stopped in front of my desk and swiped a card across my system reader. He tapped rapidly on his screen, then looked up at me. "No hack occurred."
• "Excuse me?" I asked.
• "The print job came from an authorized internal administrative account," Tim said. "The system approved the access."
• "That is even worse!" I shouted. "A scammer holding high-level access proves my point!"
• "It just means he owns half the parent company, Nora," Tim said, shaking his head.
• I ignored him and grabbed my cold iced coffee. "He is desperate. Watch. He will send another appeal."
• Instead, a fresh notification popped up on my middle screen.
• Subject line: PROOF I EXIST - ATTEMPT #1.
• I sprayed iced coffee across my desk mat.
• Lisa nearly flipped her chair backwards rushing to look over my shoulder. "Did he actually write that?"
• Frank pulled a dry-erase marker out of his pocket and set a portable whiteboard right beside my filing cabinet. "New betting pool! Place your wagers on how many documents it takes before Nora breaks!"
• He drew two columns on the board. Within three minutes, five of my fellow employees lined up with cash in hand.
• "Are you serious, Frank?" I asked.
• "Ten dollars says five attempts," a guy from compliance called out, slapping a bill onto my desk.
• I clicked open the first attachment. A certified state birth certificate loaded on the screen, complete with gold registration seals and official signatures.
• I zoomed in to eight hundred percent magnification. I spent twenty full minutes studying every corner of the image before hitting the red reject button.
• "What was the flaw?" Lisa asked, squinting at the screen.
• "Look at the baby footprint," I said. "The ink lines are too crisp. Forgery suspected. The infant signature looks overly confident."
• "Babies do not sign birth certificates, Nora," Lisa said.
• "Which is precisely what a sophisticated scammer wants you to believe," I replied.
• Frank wrote on the whiteboard:
• Birth Certificate: REJECTED.
• The crowd of analysts cheered.
• Thirty minutes later, the second email hit my inbox.
• Subject line: PROOF I EXIST - ATTEMPT #2.
• Elias attached a zip file containing high school transcripts, graduation photos, medical history, and childhood immunization records.
• I rejected every single item within two minutes.
• "Why?" Frank asked, pen ready.
• "The handwriting on his medical records is completely legible," I said. "Doctors do not write like that. Plus, there are zero juice stains on these childhood forms."
• "Juice stains?" Lisa asked.
• "Children are sticky, Lisa. Real family documents suffer damage."
• Frank laughed and checked off another box on the board.
• At one thirty in the afternoon, the third message arrived.
• Subject line: PROOF I EXIST - ATTEMPT #3.
• I opened the attachment. An official letter from the International Monetary Fund filled the display, bearing signatures from senior global directors confirming the identity and personal accounts of Elias Mercer.
• A dozen coworkers gathered behind my chair in complete silence.
• "The IMF vouched for him, Nora," Frank whispered. "That is the actual IMF."
• I studied the blue seal on the top corner, then moved my mouse cursor.
• REJECTED.
• The crowd gasped in unison.
• "International organizations make mistakes too," I announced to the room. "I hold higher standards."
• One analyst threw his stress ball against the wall in frustration and walked away.
• Elias clearly took that personally. Exactly one hour later, a fourth email landed.
• Subject line: PROOF I EXIST - ATTEMPT #4.
• Attached was a high-resolution photograph of Elias Mercer standing beside the Pope inside the Vatican, both men smiling at the camera.
• "That looks completely real," Lisa whispered.
• Even I paused. The lighting looked natural. The shadows fell toward the floor in soft lines.
• "Pay up, Frank!" someone shouted from the back row.
• I zoomed in four hundred percent on the Pope's white skullcap. I zoomed in again.
• "Aha!" I yelled, circling a pixelated edge on the screen with my finger. "Photoshop artifacts around the skull! Forgery!"
• I hit reject.
• "You rejected the Pope!" Frank yelled, putting his hands over his face.
• My private email chime sounded a minute later. The message came straight from Elias's personal address.
• What exactly would satisfy you, Miss Carson?
• I typed back:
• Evidence.
• His reply came five seconds later:
• I have sent mountains of evidence.
• I replied:
• Good evidence.
• He wrote back:
• Define good evidence.
• I typed:
• You will know it when I see it.
• Lisa stared at my keyboard. "How has this man not flown a helicopter straight to our roof to fire you?"
• By three o'clock, work in the department had completely ground to a halt. Nobody asked about quarterly targets. Everyone brought snacks to my cubicle and checked Frank's whiteboard.
• Mr. Henderson walked past twice, looked at the crowd, let out a soft sigh, and retreated back to his corner office without saying a single word.
• At four fifteen, the ultimate notification appeared on my screen.
• Subject line: PROOF I EXIST - FINAL ATTEMPT.
• "Here comes the grand finale," I said, opening my iced coffee straw. "Probably a picture with an astronaut."
• I opened the document. It was a formal legal deed, complete with foreign government stamps, diplomatic ribbons, and notary signatures.
• I read the top line. My smile faded.
• I read the second line. My breath hitched.
• The legal instrument declared the unconditional transfer of full sovereign title and land ownership for a small European principality.
• The primary recipient listed in bold black ink was: Nora Carson.
• My full legal name appeared across six different clauses. Official seals covered the bottom margin.
• The entire department went dead silent.
• Lisa leaned over my shoulder until her hair touched my ear. "Nora? What is that?"
• I could not form a single sentence.
• Frank read over my left side, his jaw dropping lower with every line. "Did he... did he just buy you a country?"
• I stared at the red stamp at the bottom of the page. "It is not a country."
• "What is it then?" Frank asked.
• "It is a very small country," I whispered.
• A second text notification flashed at the bottom of the open PDF.
• If I am a scammer, Miss Carson, please explain how I legally transferred sovereign land into your name before lunch. Regards, Elias Mercer.
• I stared at the glowing white letters on the screen.
• For the first time since eight seventeen this morning, I had absolutely nothing to say.