At midnight, Jordan's trap sprung perfectly.
The backdoor activated. Downloaded what it thought was sensitive client data. Sent it to pre-programmed media contacts. Emails fired off to gossip sites, business publications, industry watchdogs.
But all of it was fake. Dummy files Jordan had created. Generic client names. Fabricated complaints. Nothing real. Nothing damaging.
"It worked," Jordan said, watching his screen. "Whoever's monitoring thinks they've successfully destroyed your company. The real data is safe."
"How long until they realize?" I asked.
"Hours. Maybe a day if they're not checking carefully." He pulled up tracking software. "But look at this. The backdoor connected to an IP address before sending. I traced it."
A location appeared on his map. Address in Brooklyn. Ware
