She raised her voice and spoke over everything I said.
She told Ronald I had become paranoid.
She accused me of inventing a ridiculous corporate conspiracy because I was selfish and wanted to force Colin out of the industry.
I attempted to explain the stolen code, but she twisted my words.
She claimed my intense workload had caused delusions.
“She wants to keep all the money,” Shirley told my father in the background. “She is trying to destroy her brother.”
I heard Ronald release a heavy sigh near the microphone.
His entire tone changed.
The rational man I had spoken to moments earlier disappeared.
“Autumn,” he said, his voice filled with disappointment. “Stop making these irrational accusations against your family.”
He paused.
“You need professional assistance, not an attorney.”
“Dad, they stole my data.”
“Enough,” Ronald snapped.
He refused to hear another word.
The call ended.
I drove back to my apartment in silence.
I entered the living room and dropped my keys on the counter.
Kurt’s proxy server continued sending prerecorded footage of me writing code, but the physical microphones and lenses remained active.
I stood completely still and looked toward the smoke detector above me.
The weight of my father’s betrayal struck all at once.
Tears of anger and frustration moved down my cheeks.
I didn’t wipe them away.
I knew Shirley and Colin were watching the feed, enjoying my distress.
On Tuesday night, the custom security software Kurt installed on my phone vibrated against my leg.
I checked the encrypted alert.
The message was brief.
Someone had established an active connection to the proxy server broadcasting the hidden-camera network.
They were watching the stream from my home office at that exact moment.
I entered the room and sat at my desk.
I knew Colin was staring at his monitor, waiting for me to make a mistake.
I decided to provide one.
I opened my laptop and deliberately ignored my normal security procedures.
It needed to appear authentic.
A tired developer choosing convenience over safety.
I opened a standard, unencrypted text file.
I maximized it so the white background covered the screen and illuminated my face inside the dim room.
Then I began typing.
I used a large, bold font so the camera lens mounted above me could easily capture the words.
Internal test server — 10.45.82.112
On the next line, I wrote:
Authentication disabled — temporary debug mode.
The hidden cameras Kurt examined possessed advanced digital-zoom capability.
I knew Colin would notice the text.
He would enlarge the footage, focus on the computer display, and read the exact address.