Chapter 5 The Other Miss Richards
A few days later, I was reviewing projected ROI models when voices drifted in from the corridor.
“…I’m telling you, this could bring in an entirely new demographic.”
I glanced up just as they passed the glass wall.
And that’s when I saw her.
Apple.
She was walking beside a man from marketing. Tim, I remembered a second later. He looked like he was doing his best not to stare at her mouth when she spoke.
“So you’re saying Sinclair is still very traditional with ads?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Yes, but we’re trying to expand,” Tim said eagerly. “Influencer marketing is the next step. Knox just hasn’t prioritized it yet.”
She smiled. The kind of smile that made men forget policy.
“Well,” she said, “maybe he just hasn’t met the right influencer yet.”
That was when Apple saw me.
Her step faltered.
Our eyes met.
Her smile froze. Her gaze dropped briefly to my desk. My screen. My badge.
I leaned back in my chair and lifted an eyebrow.
Her expression tightened.
Tim followed her line of sight.
“You know each other?” he asked.
“No,” Apple said quickly, looking away.
Tim steered her toward Linda’s desk.
“This is Apple,” he said. “She’s a content creator. We’re exploring influencer marketing for Sinclair’s entertainment properties.”
Linda looked at Apple, then back at him.
“I thought it would be helpful if Mr. Sinclair could at least meet her,” Tim continued. “She has a huge reach, and Miss Apple said she wanted to discuss potential partnerships.”
Apple stepped in smoothly.
“Knox will want to see me,” she said softly. “We go way back.”
Tim looked surprised.
“You do?”
She smiled and nodded.
Linda did not move.
“I’m sorry,” she said politely. “Mr. Sinclair is busy.”
Tim shifted awkwardly.
“It would only take a minute,” he said. “We’re trying to modernize outreach.”
“Mr. Sinclair does not take unscheduled meetings.”
Tim glanced at Apple, then at Linda. He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Come on, Linda. Help me out.”
I watched without pretending I wasn’t.
Apple looked at me again.
This time her eyes hardened.
Linda sighed quietly and lifted the phone.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she said. “Marketing is here with Miss Apple Richards. She says she knows you.”
A pause.
“Yes. I understand.”
She hung up.
“Mr. Sinclair will see Miss Richards now.”
Apple straightened instantly, smoothing her hair. Then she turned and gave me a slow, smug glance over her shoulder, the kind that said she believed she’d just won.
She walked toward the office, hips swaying in the practiced rhythm she knew men liked.
The door closed behind her.
Tim stood there awkwardly for a moment, then drifted toward the kitchen area and sat down, pretending to scroll on his phone while clearly waiting.
I turned back to my screen and kept working.
Twenty minutes passed.
When the door finally opened, Apple stepped out.
She smoothed her hair. Wiped the corner of her lipstick with her thumb. Adjusted the front of her blouse.
I narrowed my eyes.
She paused deliberately, then turned just enough for me to see her face.
Our eyes met. Hers were triumphant, smug, like she’d just walked out with a trophy she thought I’d wanted.
She thought she was ahead.
I leaned back in my chair and let a faint smile touch my lips.
Let her think that.
Tim jumped up immediately and hurried to her side, eager for her attention. I watched them walk away.
Whatever game she thought she was playing, I had time.
And I had far more access.
Sooner or later, Knox Sinclair would be mine.
Later that week, my phone rang while I was in the kitchen making coffee. I had just poured the water when Amy’s name lit up the screen.
I answered.
“She tried again,” Amy said without preamble.
I closed my eyes slowly. I didn’t even have to ask who.
“Tried what?”
“She opened a new credit card in your name. Different bank this time. Different limit. Same identity profile.”
My grip tightened around the mug. Whenever something in Apple’s life went wrong, whenever something in mine went right, she needed to drag me down with her.
“Already closed?” I asked.
“Within five minutes,” Amy replied.
That part no longer surprised me.
Amy had built those systems years ago, quietly and obsessively. Scripts that monitored my credit inquiries in real time. Programs that scraped financial databases for any activity tied to my identity. Alerts that triggered the second something moved without my authorization.
Apple had tried this before. More than once.
Every card had been closed before activation. Every attempt had been archived. Every piece of proof had been stored away.
We had never acted.
We had waited.
“She’s persistent,” Amy added. “I’m almost impressed. Almost.”
“Send me everything,” I said.
“All of it?” she asked.
“Yes. This attempt, and every previous one.”
There was a brief pause . The kind where I could practically hear her brain shifting gears, reorganizing data, pulling up files at the speed of thought
“So you’re finally ready to move.”
“Yes.”
A short, satisfied exhale. “Finally. It’s about time to take that bitch down a peg.”
I leaned back against the counter and stared at the wall in front of me.
“I’m filing a police report this time,” I said. “I want the full package. Timeline. Locations. Access trails. Everything.”
“Nice,” she replied. “I’ll send it in ten minutes. Encrypted folder. You’ll have all of it.”
“Thank you.”
When I ended the call, I stood there for a long moment, the city moving quietly beyond my windows.
I had waited years for the right moment. I had resisted the urge to strike early, to expose her when it would only bruise her pride. I had made small moves against her over time. But now it was time to stop playing defense.
Now it was time to change the game.
And Apple had just given me the perfect opening.