23. Tartan Up a Storm
TARTAN UP A STORM
KARINA
The August twilight casts a golden glow across Connor and Ariana's engagement party as I step through the grand entrance of the Harborview Hotel.
Crystal chandeliers throw diamond-like reflections across the marble floor, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Seattle's skyline against a perfect sunset.
The air smells of expensive perfume, champagne, and undisguised ambition—the signature scent of tech industry networking.
Two hours into the party, and I've managed not to ruin anything.
Yet.
But I’ve managed to help out quite a bit.
The bagpipes have been banished, the kilted teddy bears incinerated, and the replacement cocktails (respectfully named "Highland Reserve" and "Heather Bloom") are flowing.
Callum has been masterfully working the room, his natural authority drawing investors like moths to an exceptionally wealthy flame.
I'm just starting to relax when I spot Luke Sterling moving purposefully toward me through the crowd, expression grave.
My stomach drops as I remember Viktoria's warning…
Luke has been investigating my background.
"Karina," he says without a proper greeting, "we need to talk."
"Can it wait? I'm coordinating with the staff about dessert timing." I gesture toward the catering team, who definitely aren't expecting me.
"It's waited long enough." He guides me to a relatively quiet alcove, his voice low but firm. "I've completed background checks on all key personnel associated with the MacTavish acquisition."
"How thorough," I say, aiming for casual but landing somewhere near panic.
Luke adjusts his glasses, a gesture I've learned means he's uncomfortable with what he's about to say. "Your credentials don't match your employment history."
The world narrows to his face and the pounding of my heart. "Luke?—"
"There's no record of you at Drake Communications during the years you claimed. Your master's thesis doesn't exist in any university database. Your digital footprint has been artificially created—rather expertly, I might add."
"I can explain," I begin, but a commotion at the entrance cuts me off.
Duncan MacTavish has arrived, resplendent in a formal kilt outfit that makes several nearby women audibly gasp.
He scans the room with predatory precision until his gaze locks onto me.
The smile that spreads across his face chills me to the bone.
"Ms. Peters!" he calls loudly, crossing the room with alarming speed for a man his age. "Just the woman I wanted to see."
Luke gives me a grim look. "You should have told Callum yourself."
Before I can reply, Duncan reaches us, clapping Luke on the shoulder. "Sterling! Good to see you. Mind if I borrow Ms. Peters for a moment?"
"Actually—"
"Wonderful," Duncan interrupts, steering me away. "You know, my dear, you've done remarkable work rehabilitating Abernathy's image. From embezzlement scandal to viral sensation in just weeks. Quite impressive for someone with your... creative background."
My blood freezes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" His eyes gleam with malicious delight. "Funny, because my team found it quite interesting that Drake Communications has no record of your employment during the years listed on your Abernathy Corp application. Or that your supposed master's thesis advisor doesn't recall your name."
"You've been investigating me?" I manage, though my mouth has gone desert-dry.
"Due diligence, my dear. Critical when evaluating acquisition targets." He waves to someone across the room. "Ah, there's Callum now. Let's share the news, shall we?"
"Duncan, please—" I grab his sleeve, desperation overriding professionalism. "This is neither the time nor the place."
"On the contrary," he says, expertly extracting himself from my grip. "It's precisely the right time and place to discuss integrity issues affecting a multi-billion-dollar acquisition."
He begins cutting through the crowd toward Callum, who's deep in conversation with two investors.
I follow, heart hammering against my ribs, mentally calculating the fastest escape routes from this nightmare.
"Callum!" Duncan calls jovially. "Just the man I wanted to see. I've been having the most fascinating conversation with your Marketing Director."
Callum turns, expression instantly guarded. "Duncan. I wasn't aware you were on the guest list."
"Last-minute addition," Duncan smiles. "Much like Ms. Peters' professional credentials, it seems."
A small circle of interest forms around us.
A gaggle of tech CEOs, investors, and a few people who look suspiciously like journalists, phones half-concealed but definitely recording.
"What are you talking about?" Callum asks, his eyes flicking between Duncan and me.
"I'm talking about fraud," Duncan declares, loud enough for nearby conversations to halt.
"It seems the architect behind your viral rehabilitation campaign has fabricated her entire professional history.
Drake Communications has no record of her.
Stellar Digital says she was never employed there. Her master's degree? Nonexistent."
The silence that follows feels like drowning.
I watch Callum's face transition from confusion to disbelief, and finally, to a carefully controlled mask that reveals nothing—except to those who know him.
I can see the betrayal in his eyes, the slight tightening around his mouth, the infinitesimal step he takes away from me.
"That's a serious accusation," Callum says, voice menacingly low.
"It's not an accusation. It's a fact." Duncan produces a folder from inside his jacket.
"All verified by independent investigators.
I thought you'd want to know, given your company's focus on digital identity protection.
Rather ironic that your own Marketing Director created a false identity, isn't it? "
Cameras flash.
I hear the unmistakable sound of social media notifications multiplying as attendees rush to share this dramatic development.
Callum takes the folder without opening it, his gaze never leaving my face. "Is this true?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with everything unspoken.
The confession I never finished this afternoon. The trust I've betrayed.
The relationship I've destroyed before it truly began.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "But I can explain."
His expression hardens. "You've had weeks to explain."
"I tried to tell you earlier today," I say desperately. "Before we left for the party?—"
"Yet somehow you didn't manage to mention that your entire resume is fabricated." His accent thickens with anger. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I supposed to discover it during the acquisition audit?"
"I was afraid," I admit, aware of our growing audience. "I needed the job. My mother's medical bills, my sister's?—"
"Save it," he cuts me off, his voice icy. "We'll discuss this Monday. With HR and legal present."
The finality in his tone tells me everything I need to know.
Whatever was growing between us is dead, crushed under the weight of my deception.
"Well," Duncan says, satisfaction dripping from his voice, "this certainly raises questions about Abernathy Corp's vetting procedures. Perhaps the board should reconsider whether this level of oversight is appropriate for an acquisition of MacTavish's scale."
Callum's jaw tightens. "The acquisition will proceed as planned. Abernathy Corp's integrity remains uncompromised."
"Does it?" Duncan asks innocently. "Because from where I'm standing, your leadership judgment seems increasingly questionable. First Richard, now this..."
I watch Callum's face pale slightly, a direct hit.
The mention of Richard in this context is calculated cruelty.
"If you'll excuse me," I murmur, unable to bear another moment of this public evisceration. "I should go."
No one stops me as I turn and walk away, head high despite the burning humiliation.
Behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of tweets being composed, cameras clicking, careers imploding.
My perfectly groomed professional facade is crumbling with each step I take toward the exit.
I pass Connor and Ariana, both wearing identical expressions of shock.
Grayson and Luke are huddled together, no doubt debating the security implications of my deception.
The hotel lobby television catches my eye as I wait for the valet to bring my car.
The screen shows an entertainment news breakout with my professional headshot next to Callum's viral kilt photo. The caption reads: "TROUBLE IN KILT PARADISE? MARKETING DIRECTOR BEHIND VIRAL SENSATION CLASHES WITH 'CASANOVA CEO'"
"Can I get a statement, Ms. Peters?" A reporter materializes beside me, recorder extended. "Is it true you fabricated your credentials to land the job at Abernathy Corp?"
"No comment," I manage, digging in my purse for cash to tip the valet.
"Sources say you and Callum Abernathy were romantically involved. Care to confirm?"
"Absolutely not," I snap, snatching my car keys from the startled valet.
As I slide into my car, my phone explodes with notifications.
The hashtag #CasanovaConfrontation is trending, complete with blurry photos of our argument.
I silence my phone without looking at the messages, knowing they'll be a mixture of concern from my family and professional vultures circling my career's corpse.
The night air has cooled significantly as I pull away from the hotel, but I barely notice.
All I can see is Callum's face…
The moment trust transformed into betrayal, connection into distance, possibility into impossibility.
I'd hoped to avoid becoming another Abernathy casualty, but instead, I've become something worse…
An Abernathy betrayer. And as I drive through Seattle's glittering streets, I realize I've achieved something I never thought possible.
I’ve made Callum Abernathy regret letting someone in.
The MacTavish acquisition might survive this scandal…but whatever was growing between us is as fabricated as my resume—a beautiful fiction that couldn't withstand the harsh light of truth.