It came on a Wednesday morning, folded quietly between shipping invoices and scheduling threads, buried just low enough in my inbox to be easily missed. There was no subject line. No greeting. No sender signature. Just a string of numbers that looked like a transaction ID at first glance and a single blue hyperlink beneath it.

I almost deleted it.

Lately, the volume of spam and digital noise had tripled. Everyone wanted access. Everyone wanted answers. Everyone wanted a piece of the drama, ...