Emily
I caught the error by instinct.
Something about the formatting in the final report struck me as off. I’d stayed late to double-check the quarterly summaries ahead of next week’s Pack Council meeting. And there it was: my name on a report I hadn’t touched.
At first, I thought maybe someone had reused one of my old templates. Carla was always insisting she “helped organize things behind the scenes,” even though I hadn’t asked. But this wasn’t a template issue.
The report looked like it came from me. My style. My formatting. Even my digital signature. But when I opened the source log, the time stamp once again told the truth.
It had been uploaded three hours ago. At a time when I was physically out of the office. There was no possible way I was logged into an on-site account.
Some
