Chapter 4: The Dossier of Damnation

Chapter 4: The Dossier of Damnation

The connection was a silent, digital handshake. Through the carefully constructed persona of Martin Choi, Kael now had a front-row seat to Jeff Thompson’s professional life. He could see the sanitized ecosystem Jeff had built for himself—a world of mutual back-patting, corporate jargon, and hollow proclamations of success. It was a fortress of self-importance, and Kael had just been handed a key to the gate. But a fortress isn't brought down from the inside by playing by its rules. It's brought down by finding the rot in its foundations.

Kael spent the morning meticulously mapping Jeff’s professional network. He noted the names of his direct reports, his superiors, the executives he interacted with most frequently. Each name was a potential pressure point, another node in the network he could exploit. But this was just reconnaissance. The true weapon wouldn't be found on a platform dedicated to professional decorum.

His focus shifted. Armed with Jeff's full name, his location, his birth year from the old AOL address (j.thompson78), and a list of his interests gleaned from his professional profile—golf, boating, ‘fiscal conservatism’—Kael began to trawl the wider, messier social internet.

The primary target was Facebook. It was the great digital confessional, the place where the masks of professional life often slipped, especially for men of Jeff's age and background who had been on the platform since its early days, long before they understood the permanence of a digital footprint.

A quick search yielded a dozen Jeff Thompsons in the Westwood area. Kael filtered by age, then began the painstaking process of examining each profile. The first few were dead ends: a young college student, an elderly retiree. Then he found it. The profile picture showed Jeff, his arm around a blonde woman, both of them forcing bright smiles on a golf course. A perfect suburban portrait. The banner image was a large, waving American flag.

The profile was public.

It was an act of supreme arrogance. In Jeff’s mind, his Facebook was a private club, a safe space where he could speak freely among friends he assumed were just like him. He had never conceived of a world where someone like Kael—someone with a reason and the skill to look—would come digging.

Kael’s face was a stone mask in the glow of the monitor. He clicked on the timeline, and the rot began to seep through the screen.

It was a masterclass in plausible deniability. There were no overt slurs, no swastikas. Jeff was too clever for that. Instead, it was a curated stream of thinly-veiled hate, laundered through shared articles and coded language.

He found a post from a month ago: a shared article from a fringe news site with the headline, “Forced Diversity is Killing Corporate Meritocracy.” Jeff’s only comment above the link was a single, knowing phrase: “They don’t want to talk about this.”

Kael’s fingers flew across the keyboard, his screen capture software working flawlessly. Click. A high-resolution image of the post, complete with the timestamp and the list of friends who’d ‘liked’ it, was saved to a secure folder on his server.

He scrolled further.

He found a “like” on a community page called “Secure Our Borders, Secure Our Future.” The page’s feed was a cesspool of anti-immigrant memes and fear-mongering. Click. Another screenshot added to the collection.

He found a post from Jeff himself, complaining about a new low-income housing project in a neighboring town. He didn't use racist language. He used code. He talked about “preserving the character of the neighborhood,” “protecting property values,” and the influx of “urban culture.” The comments from his friends, however, were less restrained. One wrote, “There goes the neighborhood, Jeff! Better lock your doors.” Jeff had replied to that comment with a single ‘laughing’ emoji. Click.

It was an endless, scrolling litany of prejudice. Memes mocking transgender people. Posts questioning the legitimacy of the Black Lives Matter movement. An article decrying “critical race theory” in schools. Each one was a piece of the true Jeff Thompson, the festering soul hidden beneath the tailored suit and corporate smile.

The final, damning piece came when Kael scrolled back a few weeks. There, on Jeff's timeline, was a shared post from another page. It was a digital illustration—a caricature of a Black artist painting what the caption called “ghetto garbage” while a white artist, representing classical European tradition, was ignored. It was ugly, juvenile, and steeped in the same venom as the comment that had started it all.

Kael’s breath hitched. He stared at the image, his blood turning to ice. This wasn’t just a random troll. This was a core part of Jeff’s belief system. The comment left on Lena’s art wasn’t a momentary lapse in judgment; it was an expression of his deeply held worldview. The arrow that wounded Lena had been carved and fletched in this very echo chamber of hate.

For the next hour, Kael worked with the detached precision of a surgeon. He wasn't just collecting screenshots. He was building a case. He opened a new document, a blank slate that would become his weapon. At the top, he typed a simple, professional title:

Employee Conduct Review: Jeffrey Thompson, Senior Manager

Below it, he began to assemble his dossier of damnation. Each piece of evidence was meticulously cataloged.

• Exhibit A: A screenshot of Jeff’s professional networking profile, highlighting his title at Veridian Dynamics and his public endorsements praising his leadership.
• Exhibit B: A direct link to Veridian Dynamics’ own diversity and inclusion statement, quoted verbatim.
• Exhibit C: A curated selection of screenshots from Jeff’s public Facebook page. Each image was timestamped, with the URL of the post clearly visible. He organized them by category: Anti-Immigrant Sentiment, Racial Dog Whistles, Transphobic Content.
• Exhibit D: The original, hateful comment from Patriot_Prime88 on Lena’s art page.
• Exhibit E: A final, connecting piece of evidence. He cross-referenced the friends who had commented on Jeff's Facebook posts with Jeff's professional connections. He found an overlap—a junior colleague who had ‘liked’ one of Jeff's most inflammatory posts. This proved the public Facebook page was actively viewed by his professional peers, making his behavior a direct liability to the company.

When he was finished, he converted the document into a crisp, polished PDF. It was twelve pages long. It wasn't a rant from an angry victim. It was a professional, undeniable portfolio of hate, compiled with the cold, irrefutable logic of a corporate audit. It was designed to be read not by an internet mob, but by the one entity Jeff Thompson truly feared and respected: a Human Resources department.

Kael leaned back, the dossier glowing on his central monitor. He had the weapon. It was loaded, polished, and perfectly calibrated. He had found his target’s greatest vulnerability. It wasn't Jeff's home, his family, or his finances. It was his carefully constructed lie. His career. His status. The public persona he had spent decades building.

Now, all that was left was to find the perfect person to hand the weapon to and to aim it directly at the heart of Jeff Thompson's world: his employer.