CHAPTER 12 （SARAH）
Morning headlines scream about me forging Redwood emails, plastering my name and Michael’s under salacious accusations.
Pictures taken at odd angles accompany wild speculation that I siphoned Redwood funds.
My chest tightens as I scroll through the damning coverage in my tiny kitchen, stale coffee turning bitter on my tongue.
They’re painting me as a criminal. Fear twists through my gut, colliding with the knowledge that Redwood already buckles under sabotage.
This new wave of scandal threatens everything.
My phone explodes with notifications, friends and colleagues sending frantic messages, asking if the rumors are true.
My mother calls, voice trembling, and I choke out reassurances I barely believe.
I can’t let her see how close I am to panic.
I rush out, heart hammering, bracing for the onslaught awaiting me at Chen Technologies.
The city’s morning bustle jabs at my raw nerves, sirens and street chatter reverberating in my skull.
I have to show up. Redwood can’t survive more chaos if I vanish.
Entering Chen Technologies is worse than I dreaded.
Paparazzi crowd the lobby, cameras flashing so bright I lose my bearings.
They shout questions about alleged embezzlement, Redwood’s meltdown, whether Michael is covering for me.
My throat tightens as Michael appears, jaw clenched, pulling me through.
Security tries to push back the horde, but they persist, flinging accusations that clang against my ears.
Each flash of the camera blinds me, adrenaline coiling in my veins.
Michael’s grip on my elbow is firm, guiding me into the elevator.
He punches the button for an executive floor with more force than necessary.
Our silence thrums. He’s furious that Redwood’s crisis just got a thousand times worse.
He stands tall, shoulders rigid, as the doors glide shut, sealing away the paparazzi’s shouts.
My head swims. Redwood can’t afford this avalanche of scandal.
My chest aches with dread that we’re losing control one rumor at a time.
An emergency board meeting crackles with hostility.
I step inside, every eye pinned on me like I’m a sacrificial lamb.
A hush falls, then murmurs break out, half the board convinced I’m Redwood’s biggest liability.
Pictures from the tabloids sit on the conference table, overshadowed by bulletins about Redwood’s shaky finances.
My stomach lurches. They look at me like I’m a virus.
I scramble to defend myself, voice trembling as I insist these forgeries are sabotage.
Michael stands behind me, arms crossed, jaw ticking with tension, but he’s letting me speak for myself.
The board members remain stone-faced. One man sneers that Redwood’s image is irreparably tarnished by scandal.
Another demands an explanation for the photos of me with Michael—grainy but damning.
I stammer about blackmail, sabotage, anything to shift blame from Redwood.
Whispers swirl around the polished table.
My heart thrums with panic. I’m in over my head.
The meeting ends with no resolution, leaving me battered under their collective suspicion.
HR pounces on me the moment I escape the boardroom.
Ms. Patel’s voice is cold, reminding me of fraternization rules, brandishing an updated record of “possible fraud.” I sit in a cramped office with tinted glass, my hands clenched in my lap.
She demands clarity: Are the forgeries connected to me?
Have I doctored Redwood data? Her questions sting.
I protest my innocence, tears threatening.
No one believes the truth if it collides with a juicier scandal.
She outlines how Redwood’s brand is hemorrhaging, how my closeness to Michael only fuels the flames.
My pulse throbs. I want to scream that these tabloids lie, that I’ve poured my soul into Redwood.
Ms. Patel’s eyes remain impassive. She’s an enforcer of corporate image, not a friend.
Her final words ring like a warning bell: if Redwood can’t salvage credibility, heads will roll.
Mine first. She dismisses me, leaving me near tears, but I refuse to let them see me cry. Redwood’s survival is too crucial.
I stalk into the corridor, on the verge of collapse, only to find Damien skulking outside the conference rooms. He’s leaning against a wall, arms folded, a smug grin twisting his lips.
He’s waiting for me to crack. Rage simmers in my veins.
I want to confront him about these forged emails, the sabotage that’s pinned Redwood’s meltdown on me.
My fists clench, but Michael materializes behind me, gripping my elbow.
He shakes his head once, caution in his eyes.
Starting a public scene would be suicide.
Damien’s smirk deepens as we walk away. My stomach churns with anger.
Redwood stands on a precarious ledge, and Damien’s illusions fan the flames of scandal.
Michael steers me toward a more private hallway, body taut.
We don’t speak, but tension thrums between us.
He’s furious. I burn with frustration. Redwood pays the price for every rumor Damien spreads.
We’re losing ground while he gloats in the shadows. My pulse hammers with helpless fury.
Investors lash out next, panicked phone calls and emails flooding Redwood’s inbox.
Reports show Redwood’s stock dipping dangerously, overshadowed by headlines that brand the project corrupt.
I hunch over my desk, phone pressed to my ear, trying to reassure an investor who demands I prove Redwood isn’t mired in fraud.
My words sound hollow. My chest tightens.
Nothing I say can match the power of sensational media.
Michael strides by, snapping instructions to staff, tension radiating off him in waves.
Redwood’s finances teeter, and these new allegations turn once-confident backers into skittish onlookers.
Each conversation drains me further. My mind spins with dread for Redwood’s future.
We’re unraveling. The calls keep coming, each investor more skeptical than the last. Some mention pulling out.
Others insinuate Redwood’s name is mud. My nails bite into my palm, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
No meltdown allowed. Redwood can’t fall because of forged data.
James Chen summons me to his office, frustration brimming in every syllable.
He demands I produce irrefutable proof that I’m being framed, otherwise Redwood must offer a scapegoat to calm the press.
My stomach sinks. He’s prepared to sacrifice me to save Redwood.
He paces behind his desk, voice clipped as he explains Redwood’s brand can’t weather indefinite scandal.
He’s always been measured, but now I sense desperation.
Redwood was his vision, and these forged emails sabotage everything he built.
My pulse throbs. I protest, voice quivering, insisting we can unmask the real culprit.
He folds his arms, unimpressed, saying time is running out.
Redwood’s stock can’t rebound if the public sees a corporate meltdown with me at the center.
The ultimatum slices through me: prove sabotage, or Redwood severs ties with me.
I can’t blame him for wanting to protect the project.
My mother’s hospital bills flash in my mind, mingling with an ache for Redwood, for Michael, for everything at stake.
James Chen dismisses me with a stern glare that says this is my last chance.
In a hidden stairwell, I finally break. Tears spill as I clutch the cold railing, breath hitching.
My mother’s bills remain unpaid, Redwood crumbles, and every headline names me a crook.
I’m drowning. The clang of distant footsteps makes me flinch, but I stay, letting sobs tear from my chest. My phone buzzes in my pocket, more Redwood calls I can’t handle.
Shame roils through me. I’m supposed to be strong, but right now, I’m in pieces.
Why does everything hinge on me? The stairwell echoes with my ragged breaths.
The cruelty of it all crushes me. Redwood once felt like a lifeline, but now it’s a vise around my neck.
I can’t let Damien or these tabloids bury me.
After a few minutes, I wipe my eyes, steeling my spine.
I’ll do whatever it takes. Redwood needs my determination, even if the board sees me as disposable.
My chest hurts, but I square my shoulders and push open the metal door.
Tears can’t fix Redwood. Only proof can.
Late that evening, Michael and I hole up in a dusty back conference room, laptops glowing in the dim.
My eyes burn from hours of cross-checking Redwood’s digital logs, searching for the forgeries that frame me.
He sits across the table, face set in grim lines, occasionally cursing under his breath.
We discovered clues hinting at Damien’s involvement, but nothing that seals the case.
My chest tightens at the memory of the board’s threat.
If we don’t unmask the real saboteur, Redwood’s leadership will shred me to calm the press.
Michael can’t protect me unless we have airtight evidence.
We share a glance in the hush, a flicker of solidarity.
Our exhaustion binds us. My pulse flutters with gratitude for him, the one person who fights by my side.
We vow to keep digging, no matter how long it takes, determined to expose whoever forged those emails in my name.
The hours tick by, the hush broken by the scrape of chairs and the whisper of spreadsheets.
Redwood’s entire future rests on these lines of code, this last shot at saving my name.
Stepping out of Chen Technologies, I’m confronted by a swarm of paparazzi.
Camera flashes strobe the night, reporters firing questions about Redwood’s imminent collapse.
My stomach seizes. They sense blood in the water.
Michael stands behind me, posture protective, but we can’t outrun them.
They fling accusations about me funneling Redwood funds.
Microphones jab near my face. Fear tangles with anger.
Redwood can’t handle another scandal-blitz, yet these tabloids feast on every rumor.
I breathe through the onslaught, forcing out a single statement that Redwood is stable, that sabotage is being addressed.
My voice trembles. They clamor for more.
Michael ushers me forward, forging a path to a waiting car.
A random journalist yells that I’m heading for jail.
My chest twists. I won’t run. Redwood is my responsibility.
Slipping into the back seat, I slam the door, adrenaline shaking my limbs.
We drive off under a hail of camera flashes.
My eyes burn. But I straighten, reminding myself that I won’t abandon Redwood or cave to Damien’s vile sabotage.
No matter how grim it gets, I refuse to yield.