Logan
The report sat unopened on my desk for a full hour before Douchen it again.
Not because I doubted what was inside. I didn’t. I’d read it twice already the night before, memorized the sequence of events, the files, the log trails Emily had laid out perfectly.
She hadn’t missed a detail. That was what made it worse.
She’d done it all without me. And in spite of my doubt.
I was supposed to be the one protecting her. From the nobles. From my staff. From the vultures circling for a scandal.
Instead, I’d stood there–ans crossed, voice flat–and made her grove herself. Because I wasn’t sure I believed her.
Because part of me, the cold, calculating part, had whispered: If she’s guilty, don’t let her drag you down too.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to clear the guilt from my chest. But it stayed where I could feel it.
By the time I entered the meeting room, the key assistants and accountants were already seated. Iris sat near the center, legs crossed, back straight, wearing a deep purple blouse that made her look more like a queen than a secretary.
Her expression was perfectly neutral–professional, unreadable. She didn’t look concerned. That would change immediately.
I closed the door behind me.
“This won’t take long,” I said, dropping the folder onto the table with a dull thud: I stayed standing, towering over everyone else seated.
I pulled the first document free–an internal budget report flagged for fraud two weeks ago–and laid it flat for them to see.
“This was submitted under Emily’s name,” I said. “Logged under her credentials. There was an error in the transfer math that could’ve passed unnoticed. But it didn’t.”
I laid the next page beside it: a version of the same document, copied and altered, the tile path linking it to a different terminal.
“Same document. Same date. Different edits. Different access point.”
Iris went perfectly still, her exterior frozen with rapt attention.
1 continued, “The original proposal Emily submitted was clean. Her notes flagged inconsistencies before the accusations began. This version“-I tapped the second page “was duplicated, edited, and uploaded to my inbox. The digital signature was traced.”
I turned my eyes to the table, “It came from your workstation, Iris ||
Silence spread through the room. Carla shifted in her chair.
Iris’s voice was calm when it came. “Anyone could’ve accessed that terminal. Emily’s quite skilled with system tools, isn’t she? Perhaps she’s clever enough to set me up.”
I looked at her then. Dead center.
“Iris,” I said evenly, “do you really think I’d bring this to the table without confirming the logs through LT.?”
She blinked. Just once. It was the first crack in her composure.
“System admin confirms the file markers were created with your login,” I continued. “Your fingerprint is on the access key. The logs show repeated attempts to mirror her work, not sabotage it overwrite it.”
I paused for effect, then I said the part I hadn’t decided until this morning
“You tried to frame someone my fiancé – using my name. My office. My seal. That’s not a mistake. That’s a calculated attack.”
Tlet the words settle.
“I won’t tolerate it. You’re dismissed, effective immediately.”
–
She opened her mouth just a fraction—but the command in my tone left no room for argument. Her lips pressed shut
No one in the room spoke.
Iris stood slowly, gathered her folder without meeting my eyes, and walked out. The door shut behind her with a hush.
I just stood there, staring at the empty chair, and felt no satisfaction.
Only silence. I’d removed the threat. But the damage? That was already done.
Carla was the first to move–rising slowly, gathering her tablet with overly careful hands like she was afraid of drawing attention. Two of the other aides filed out behind her, heads down, backs stiff.
