“What are you talking about?” My pulse hammered against my temples.
“A week from now, the trainer—your—uh—wife’s trainer—will be in town. He’s got a prototype, a new training device. I need that device for a presentation. He trusts you, right? He’ll hand it over if you… convince him it’s for the company’s new wellness program.”
The words hit like a cold splash. “You want me to steal from him?”
“Not steal. Just… borrow. He’ll never know. You get it, I get the contract, we both walk away with what we need.”
I stared at the piles of paper, at Maya’s steady gaze, at the faint flicker of the television’s news ticker in the corner.
“If I say no…”
“You lose everything, Larke. Your kids, your house, your name.” Maya’s voice was almost pleading now.
I swallowed, feeling the ache in my chest, the absurdity of bargaining with betrayal.
“Fine.” The word slipped out, hollow.
She pressed the file into my hands, and for a moment the office smelled like steel—cold, unforgiving.
The Signed Deal
The printer finally coughed its last page; the whirring stopped, and the room fell into a sudden hush.
My hand trembled as I placed the forged contract on the glossy conference table, the ink glinting under the fluorescent lights.
“Done,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash.
The client—tall, impeccably dressed, with a shaved head—stepped forward, his smile too wide. He reached for the pen, his fingers brushing the paper.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a pleasure,” he announced, his voice booming as the client’s representative began to sign.
Applause erupted, sharp and sudden, like a burst of fireworks. My coworkers stood, clapping, their eyes shining with relief.
“We did it,” Maya said, her voice barely audible over the cheers.
As the final signature slid across the page, the office TV flickered, a red banner scrolling across the screen.
“BREAKING: Local courtroom drama—Kaya Larke accuses husband of fraud in high‑profile case.”
The words slammed into me. I stared at the screen, heart thudding, as a grainy image of Kaya appeared, eyes fierce, pointing at me.
“What the—” I muttered, the applause dimming into a low murmur.
Then the client’s assistant turned, a smirk playing on his lips. “And now, for a special thanks to the trainer who made this possible.” He gestured to a framed photo on the wall—Kaya’s personal trainer, the very man who had ripped my marriage apart.
My mind raced. The trainer had orchestrated the printer fiasco, the impossible deadline, the forged contract—all to force me into crime.
Blood rushed to my face, the taste of copper filling my mouth. The room spun, the clapping hands a distant echo.
“You… you set this up,” I rasped, the words barely a whisper.
He laughed, a cold, rehearsed chuckle. “You wanted a deal, Larke. I gave you one.”
Behind me, Maya’s smile faded, replaced by a hard stare, as the news banner continued scrolling, sealing my fate.
