Chapter 4: The House of Cards
Thorne tried to fight back. He used his media connections to paint me as a disgruntled former employee, a woman scorned, a liar. He held press conferences with a hollow, practiced smile, claiming the recordings were AI-generated forgeries.
But the evidence was too strong. Because I had anticipated his move, I had layered the information. The recorder wasn't just a voice; it was timestamped and geolocated. The folder contained bank statements that couldn't be faked.
Vanessa, realizing the ship was sinking, tried to flee the country. But my allies in the police department—the ones who had been waiting for years for Thorne to make a mistake—intercepted her at the private terminal.
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"I had nothing to do with it!" she screamed as they cuffed her, her red dress torn, her perfect hair matted. "It was his idea! I just wanted to be part of the inner circle!"
She didn't know that I had recorded her, too. Weeks ago, when she had bragged about the embezzlement in a private room, I had been listening. I handed that tape over as well. She wasn't just a bystander; she was an accomplice. The betrayal within their own ranks was poetic. Thorne threw Vanessa under the bus to save himself, and Vanessa, in turn, handed over the names of every other corrupt official involved.
