I glance at Tim, whose facial expression is a mirror image of my father’s when he caught me sneaking in past curfew after midnight swims with Jake at the lake. Without further explanation, Judy pulls several papers from the folder and hands them to me, her manicured nails briefly grazing my trembling fingers.
“Is this your doing?” she asks, one eyebrow rising.
I flip through the campaign ideas I created at Tim’s request. “Yes,” I say, confusion evident in my tone. “Is there an issue with these?”
Judy puts one hand on her hip, her posture shifting into full principal-scolding-student mode. “Are you aware of our company’s policy regarding the use of AI?”
Her words carry a good measure of accusation, but what’s that got to do with anything?
“Yes, ma’am. It’s not allowed.” I’ve memorized the employee handbook after my first day on the job. The policies are etched into my brain at this point. Lanter Bridge prides itself on pure human creativity—no AI shortcuts allowed when it comes to campaign development. It’s actually one of the things I admire about this agency the most.
Tim clears his throat, his expression painfully self-righteous. “The email you sent me triggered a plagiarism alarm.” He points to the graphics he specifically instructed me to improve. “The images you provided bear an uncanny resemblance to a campaign of one of our competitors. Recreated with AI.”
My mouth falls open, and words elude me. The setup is so cunning I almost want to applaud his deviousness. When I look up at Tim, his face is nearly blank—nearly, except for that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, fighting to contain what can only be a victorious smile. How did I not see this coming? I focused so much on his play against Jake that I missed the one aimed at me.
Bastard.
“I didn’t know, I swear it,” I say, turning to Judy with desperate eyes. “Tim said to use these specific graphics. I can show you the email.”
Rushing to my computer, I frantically click through my inbox, searching for the smoking gun that will exonerate me. My fingers tremble across the keyboard as I scan email after email. Nothing. The email has vanished into the digital ether, as if it never existed.
With growing dread coiling like a snake in my stomach, I realize what this means. Only someone with IT clearance could purge an email so completely. Does Tim have that kind of pull behind the scenes?
“Mrs. Hawthorne,” I plead, my voice cracking around the edges, “I swear to you—“
“Spare me your excuses, Miss Lake.” Her stern voice silences me at once. “First, you hide your former relationship with Jake, and now you resort to using AI.” She shakes her head, disappointment radiating from her in waves so tangible I can almost feel them washing over me. Something about her expression—like I’ve personally betrayed her trust—makes my lower lip tremble. “I’ve never been so wrong about anyone in my life, Miss Lake. Congratulations—you’ve broken my streak of great hires.”
Through the glass windows behind them, lightning flickers across the sky, throwing shadows across Tim’s unreadable face. By contrast, Amanda doesn’t even try to mask her delight, her smile growing wider by the second.
Thunder now booms, rattling the office windows.
Judy puts on her glasses with a practiced motion. “You’re suspended, Miss Lake. Effective immediately.”
“What?” This can’t be happening—not now of all times, not when I haven’t even exposed Tim’s plans.
“You broke our policy, not to mention put our reputation at risk.” She turns to Tim, already moving on to damage control. “Make sure IT performs a full audit. This cannot happen again.”
Tim nods solemnly. “Understood.”
My thoughts scatter like billiard balls after a break, dozens of defenses forming and dissolving before they can reach my lips. But what could I possibly say that would make her believe me over them?
“Miss Lake,” Judy adds, “don’t bother showing up to the client’s presentation next week. I’ll figure out what to do with you after.” She then strides past me, muttering something about regretting hiring me.
As soon as Judy is out of earshot, Amanda erupts into laughter.
“How could you?” I say, fighting to keep my tears at bay.
Tim doesn’t even acknowledge my question or my existence. He simply walks away, his mission accomplished, while Amanda lingers like the last stubborn guest that refuses to acknowledge the party’s over.
“Did you really think we’d let you stick around?” Amanda says, her voice laced with toxic sweetness. “You were in the way. We needed you gone.” She doesn’t even bother to hide behind pretense anymore.
Numb from head to toe, I gather my personal items—the framed photo of my parents, my emergency makeup kit, the little cactus that’s somehow survived my care. Other employees pretend not to stare as I walk toward the elevator, but I feel their eyes burning into my back.
I don’t even know how long it took me to walk back to my apartment, but when I get there, it’s hard to tell my tears apart from the rain dripping from my soaked hair. In the shock of it all, I forgot my umbrella.
I pace the small space, alternating between sobbing and fuming. Jake needs to know what happened. These people are playing dirty. With shaking hands, I call his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Jake, it’s me,” I start, but the words tangle in my throat. I hang up and send a text instead: “I’ve been suspended. Tim set me up. Please call me.”
