Chapter 6
“Empty words won’t prove anything. I can produce the original sketches. What makes you think these are your designs?”
Rebecca paused, letting out a faint chuckle. “Besides, how
credible can the words of someone with a criminal record really be?”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and cameras turned toward me, zeroing in on the phrase “criminal record.”
“Ma’am, you keep insisting that Ms. Perez stole your designs. But these sketches are personal property. How could someone just casually get their hands on them?” a reporter pressed, hist tone sharp.
To clarify this mess, I would have to drag up every sordid detail of my past with Jackson.
Below, he sat like a statue, his dark blue suit only enhancing his calm demeanor, his face a mask of indifference.
Jackson knew I wouldn’t want to air our dirty laundry in public.
“She stole them from my bedroom–the one I shared with Jackson. It wasn’t just my sketches she took; she also took my husband and my son.”
Everyone stared at me in disbelief, and even Rebecca shouted for security.
Chapter
“Why not ask Mr. Gellar and his son for the truth?” someone suggested.
All eyes turned to Jackson.
He stood up with an air of composure, his deep–set eyes inscrutable.
“My wife is Ms. Perez, and Barry is our son. As for her accusations, they’re nothing but fabrications.”
Rebecca’s triumphant smile widened. “Security, please escort them. out!”
“Let go of me!” I shouted, glancing desperately at the exit.
Jackson leaned in closer, his voice low and menacing. “Emilia, he’s not coming. I paid him enough to stay away.”
I handed over all my design drafts to Justin, asking him to verify the handwriting with a professional agency.
“Who says I won’t show up?”
Justin’s voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward. “Sorry, I was just busy with the presentation.”
He climbed onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, after thorough examination, the handwriting analysis confirms that Ms. Perez plagiarized Ms. Aniston’s sketches from three years ago.”
Evidence flashed on the screen, and Rebecca’s face drained of color.
In the face of the proof, reporters began murmuring among themselves, sensing there might be more to this story than they initially thought.
Jackson took center stage. “These sketches were sold by Ms. Aniston willingly, so there’s no plagiarism here. The works submitted for this competition are original.”
He gestured to the audience. “Please produce the contracts and evidence.”
A few documents appeared that I had no memory of signing.
As Justin reached for them, Jackson swatted his hand away. “You have no right to look at those. Besides, the Ms. Aniston you’re helping protect went to prison for contract fraud a few years back. She’s quite skilled in that area.”
He deliberately shifted the focus back to my criminal record, painting me in a negative light.
“But Mr. Gellar, you have your own history. Were you not involved in that contract fraud case yourself?” Justin shot back.
That incident was straightforward, simple enough that my unwavering trust in Jackson had led me to take the fall.
I had negotiated a deal for him, but when the factory ran into
trouble and needed compensation, Jackson was broke, and the
intermediary was nowhere to be found. All the blame fell on us. With no money to pay, I ended up in prison.
I took the heat because the contract bore my signature.
Yet even now, I couldn’t recall ever signing that document.
