Part 3I Gave the Ten-Million Deal to My Accuser

Some things need to be handled in public.

I marched out of the glass room and walked straight to Brittany's cubicle.

She was sitting there, sipping an iced latte, a smug little smile on her face. She was expecting me.

Before I could even open my mouth, she leaned back in her ergonomic chair and spoke loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

"So, Nicole. Does your conscience hurt at all? Stealing the team's hard-earned money?"

I had no idea where she got this psychotic delusion, but everyone in the bullpen had stopped typing. Dozens of eyes were locked on me. They needed an answer.

I forced my voice to remain perfectly level.

"Every single financial transaction goes through the corporate accounting department. I have absolutely zero private financial dealings with the client. Every wire transfer goes to the agency. Not a single cent touches my personal accounts."

Not to mention, the contract wasn't even signed yet. Nobody pays a bribe before the ink is dry.

Brittany stared at me, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. "No private dealings? Really?"

My stomach did a slow flip.

She picked up her phone and tapped the screen.

A second later, a notification chimed on every single computer in the office.

She had dropped a photo into the main channel. It was a picture of me, taken from a distance, walking out of the client's corporate lobby. I was carrying a heavy, polished wooden box. The kind used to hold vintage Macallan 25 Scotch.

"Look closely, guys," Brittany announced, her voice dripping with venom. "Nicole doesn't drink. She hates whiskey. So why did the client's VP personally walk her out and hand her a luxury liquor box? We're all adults here. Do I really need to spell out what was stuffed inside that box?"

The implication hung heavily in the dead air.

Cold, hard cash.

The moment the staff connected the dots, the energy in the room shifted violently. The looks they gave me turned from doubtful to downright hostile.