Chapter Nine #2
Onscreen, Emmett finished the tire and walked toward the outdoor sink.
Piper answered her phone.
She remained beside the driver’s door for the entire twelve-minute call.
Alone.
Emmett did not return.
There was no intimate confrontation.
No hand beside her head.
No Owen.
At 9:57, Piper entered the SUV and drove away.
The lot remained empty for several minutes.
Then Owen’s car entered.
Piper leaned closer.
“What was he doing there?”
Onscreen, Owen parked beside the space Piper had left.
He climbed out and looked around.
A second vehicle entered from the alley.
A woman stepped out.
She wore a blue sweater and dark pants.
Her hair was similar to Piper’s length and color.
Emmett’s entire body became rigid.
The woman walked to Piper’s former parking space and leaned against the side of Owen’s car.
A man exited the second vehicle.
Dark clothes.
Broad shoulders.
A backward cap.
Not Emmett.
The distance and low resolution made the resemblance convincing.
Owen positioned them.
Piper stopped breathing.
He physically adjusted the man’s stance.
He moved the woman’s hands to the man’s chest.
Then Owen walked out of frame.
Seconds later, he returned from the exact direction shown in the fabricated clip.
The staged couple separated.
The performance had been rehearsed.
Maren whispered, “He planned it.”
Piper’s skin turned cold.
Not after the breakup.
Not after the fake relationship announcement.
On June eighteenth.
Three weeks before the Founders Gala.
More than a month before Owen posted the breakup video.
He had built evidence against Emmett before Piper knew her relationship was ending.
“Why?” Griffin asked.
No one answered.
The footage continued.
Owen dismissed the two people and handed each an envelope.
The woman drove away.
The man remained.
He approached the security camera.
Looked directly into it.
Then struck the lens with a metal object.
The image shattered.
The recording ended.
For several seconds, the only sound in the office was the hum of an old computer fan.
Emmett looked at Piper.
“He planned to accuse you before we were together.”
“No.”
Her mind was moving too quickly.
Schedules.
Dates.
Messages.
Owen’s behavior.
The golf club dinner had taken place three months earlier.
The Briar Bean footage came after it.
Piper had sent the message about Emmett before Owen staged the video.
“He saw my message,” she said.
Emmett’s expression sharpened.
“You sent it to him.”
“No. I mean he read everything.”
“Owen was your boyfriend.”
“He should not have had access to my private messages with other people.”
“What other people?”
“My sister. Maren. Clients. Anyone.”
She pulled out her phone.
Her hands were shaking now.
Piper opened the archive of her conversation with Owen and scrolled to the message he had leaked.
Sometimes I think Emmett sees me more clearly than you do.
The next message remained beneath it.
That scares me because I think I would choose him if I were free.
Owen had replied six minutes later.
Then maybe you should be.
She had interpreted it as anger.
Perhaps it had been permission.
Or a plan.
“He knew,” Piper said.
Emmett stepped closer. “Knew what?”
“That I was noticing you.”
The words became difficult.
“He started preparing proof that something had happened before anything happened.”
Maren leaned against the desk. “Why would he need proof?”
“To protect himself,” Piper said.
Everyone looked at her.
Piper could see the structure now.
Not every detail.
Enough.
Owen had been cheating.
He expected Piper to discover it.
If the relationship ended because of his behavior, he became the villain.
If he could show that Piper had already wanted Emmett, he could claim emotional betrayal. He could say she had pushed him away, driven him toward someone else, or manipulated the breakup to protect her public image.
He had not created the breakup video after being hurt.
He had created the evidence before the breakup happened.
“This was always going to be content,” Piper said.
The realization made her nauseated.
Emmett reached for her.
Stopped.
“May I?”
She nodded.
His hand closed around hers.
The warmth did not fix anything.
It gave her somewhere to stand.
“We have proof,” Griffin said.
Nora, still beside the office door, nodded. “I can export the complete file and provide a statement that it came directly from our archived system.”
“We send it to the athletic department,” Emmett said.
“And the interview producer,” Maren added.
Piper looked at the frozen screen.
The man who resembled Emmett had turned toward the camera before breaking it.
His face was partially visible.
Not enough to identify him immediately.
Enough for facial comparison.
“We need the names of the actors,” Piper said.
“Actors?” Nora asked.
“People do not stage a scene this precisely for free.”
Griffin pointed toward the envelopes Owen had handed them. “He paid them.”
“Then there may be a record.”
Tyler appeared in the doorway.
“I have an idea.”
Griffin turned. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to understand that I was wrong about the mascot but emotionally correct about hidden identities.”
“What is the idea?” Piper asked.
Everyone looked at her.
She shrugged. “Occasionally useful information survives.”
Tyler entered and pointed toward the woman on the screen.
“That sweater came from the volunteer gift bags.”
Maren leaned closer. “How can you tell?”
“The color. The sponsor logo is near the left cuff.”
Piper enlarged the image.
A small white mark appeared near the woman’s wrist.
“Which event?” Piper asked.
“The Ridgeview alumni dinner,” Tyler said. “June seventeenth.”
One day before the staged recording.
“How many were distributed?” Emmett asked.
“Forty.”
“Do we have a list?”
Tyler looked offended.
“I ran registration.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Yes, we have a list.”
Piper stared at him.
“Why?”
“People complain if someone receives the wrong size.”
“Where is it?”
“In the shared event drive.”
Piper opened her laptop and accessed the Summer Challenge account.
Tyler guided her through three badly named folders before they found the spreadsheet.
Forty names.
Players.
Staff.
Sponsors.
Volunteers.
Guests.
Piper scanned them.
Most were familiar.
Then one name stopped her.
Sasha Reid, Owen Keller Media
Maren looked over Piper’s shoulder.
“Owen brought a photographer.”
“He said she was helping with promotional content,” Piper replied.
Emmett’s grip tightened slightly around her hand.
“Do you recognize her?”
“No.”
Tyler opened the event photographs from that night.
Sasha appeared in the background of several.
Blue sweater.
Dark hair.
Same height.
The woman from the security footage.
Piper’s pulse climbed.
“One down,” Griffin said.
“What about the man?” Emmett asked.
Piper scrolled through the registration list again.
No obvious connection.
Then Maren touched the screen.
“Wait.”
A guest had signed in beneath Sasha.
No company listed.
Dylan Cross
Griffin searched the name.
A social media page appeared.
Former junior hockey player.
Fitness model.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
Photographs in a backward cap.
The resemblance to Emmett was unmistakable.
“He hired someone who looked like you,” Piper said.
Emmett’s face had become unreadable.
“He knew what he wanted the footage to show.”
Piper opened the contact information attached to Dylan’s registration.
Phone number.
Email.
Mailing address.
Tyler looked at her. “Should I call?”
“No,” everyone said.
Piper copied the information into a new file.
“We give it to the athletic department and the producer. No one contacts either of them until we know whether Owen is still paying them.”
Emmett looked at her.
“You are good at this.”
The compliment should have felt wrong in the middle of discovering her ex had built a fake cheating narrative months in advance.
It did not.
“I plan disasters professionally.”
“You plan events.”
“Same people, different seating.”
Nora exported the security file.
Maren sent copies to the Ridgeview athletic director, the interview producer, and a private attorney recommended by the university.
Within ten minutes, the athletic department acknowledged receipt.
Emmett’s mandatory meeting remained scheduled.
The suspension remained active.
The producer responded next.
This materially changes tomorrow’s interview. We are reviewing Owen’s participation.
Piper read the message aloud.
Emmett looked at her. “Withdraw.”
“No.”
“We have proof now.”
“We have proof that one video is fake.”
“One of his largest claims.”
“He has private messages, the gala footage, the contract, and whatever else he plans to release.”
“You do not need to sit beside him while he does it.”
Piper turned toward Emmett.
“I am not doing the interview for him.”
“Then who?”
“Every client who watched his videos and decided I was dishonest. Every woman who has been told that her reaction caused the betrayal. Myself.”
His expression remained tense.
She squeezed his hand.
“I need to finish this.”
He looked down at their joined fingers.
Then back at her.
“What do you need from me?”
The question again.
Always the question.
“Tell the truth,” she said. “Even when it makes you look bad.”
“I can do that.”
“I know.”
His eyes held hers.
The room seemed smaller.
Maren cleared her throat.
“We should probably discuss the almost kiss from the couples challenge.”
Piper released Emmett’s hand.
“There was no kiss.”
“That is why I said almost.”
“It was for the cameras.”
Emmett looked at her.
Piper ignored him.
Maren did not.
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
Emmett remained silent.
His silence had become far too loud.
Piper faced him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You disagree.”
“I did not speak.”
“You developed an expression.”
“I do not have one.”
“You absolutely do.”
Tyler leaned toward Griffin. “This is excellent.”