Chapter 5 - The Forged Trail
I stared at the television screen, the blood roaring in my ears.
Trevor was claiming I stole the designs?
Roman muted the television. His peaceful demeanor had returned, but it was the cold, terrifying peace I had seen in the boutique.
“He’s dead,” Roman said softly.
“Roman, no,” I said, panic flaring. “You can’t just make him disappear. That will only prove his point.”
“He is threatening my wife and my company. He took fifty thousand dollars to walk away, and now he’s trying to extort us because he saw you looking like royalty today.” Roman picked up his desk phone. “I will ruin him by sunset.”
“Wait.” I pressed my hand over the phone receiver, disconnecting the call.
Roman looked at my hand, then up at my eyes.
“He said he has emails,” I said, my mind racing. “Original emails. Trevor isn’t smart enough to pull off a corporate lawsuit on his own. He’s arrogant, but he’s a coward.”
“He’s desperate,” Roman countered. “Chloe left him at the boutique. Without her family’s money, he has nothing. This is a shakedown.”
“But how did he get emails proving I stole from him?”
I grabbed my phone and logged into my old, defunct email account—the one I used when Trevor and I lived together. I hadn't checked it in years.
My inbox loaded. My breath caught.
Dozens of emails, dated from three years ago. Emails supposedly written by me, sending the designs to Trevor, begging him to "fix my terrible sketches" and acknowledging that the core ideas were his.
“He logged into my account when we lived together,” I whispered, staring at the screen. “He planted a paper trail before he left. He was planning this three years ago.”
Roman walked around the desk and looked over my shoulder. His jaw muscle ticked. “He knew I bought the designs. He knew he forged the contract. He planted these emails as an insurance policy in case I ever came after him for the forgery.”
Trevor had weaponized my own history against me.
My phone vibrated in my hand. An unknown number.
I answered it on speaker.
“Sadi,” Trevor’s voice echoed in the office. He sounded smug, empowered. “Did you see my press conference? I imagine Vance is losing his mind right now.”
“What do you want, Trevor?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“Ten million,” Trevor said bluntly. “And a public apology from your husband for assaulting me today. If I don't get it by tomorrow, I take this to trial. I’ll drag your name through the mud. The poor little diner girl who scammed her way into a billionaire's bed using her boyfriend's stolen ideas.”
“You’re a monster,” I said.
“I’m a businessman. You always said I needed ambition, right? Meet me at the old diner tonight. Just you. Bring a check, or I destroy everything you've built.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Roman. He was already reaching for his jacket. “I’ll handle this. He won't make it to the diner.”
“No,” I said, grabbing my old sketchbook off the desk. I flipped to a specific page—a drawing of a customized chef’s knife.
“Sadi, I am not letting you go back to that man.”
“You don't have to,” I said, pointing to a tiny, microscopic detail in the corner of the knife’s handle sketch. “Because Trevor made one massive mistake when he stole my book.”
Roman leaned in. “What is that?”
“It’s a watermark,” I said. “But not just any watermark.”
I flipped the page to show a small, repeating geometric pattern in the shading of the drawings.
“My father was a watchmaker,” I said quietly. “He taught me how to hide maker’s marks. Trevor thought these were just shading lines. But they aren't.”
I grabbed a magnifying glass from Roman’s desk and held it over the drawing.
Under the glass, the geometric shading lines spelled out a repeating sentence, hidden in plain sight across every single design.
Designed by Sadi. Dedicated to E.R.
Roman smiled, a predatory gleam in his eye. “E.R. Your grandmother.”
“Trevor doesn’t just have fake emails,” I said, feeling my dignity and power finally slotting back into place. “He’s about to enter a federal courtroom with stolen property carrying my literal signature.”
The office door swung open again.
May you like
It was Chloe. Trevor’s fiancée. Her makeup was ruined, and she was holding a heavy, black leather briefcase.
“I heard his phone call to you,” Chloe said, trembling. “He doesn't know I have this. But if you want to destroy him... you're going to need what's inside.”
