My Bestie Reported My Fake Degree, But My Real Identity Terrified Her Chapter 11

My Bestie Reported My Fake Degree, But My Real Identity Terrified Her Chapter 11

I walked onto the stage.

A document lay on the signing table. Beside it were a personal authorization seal and a signing pen.

The seal bore only one name.

Mine.

The director below the stage rose to his feet.

He did not stand because he was excited, but because the senior corporate executives seated on either side of him had already stood up.

Then the second row stood.

Then the first row.

Applause began at the front and spread backward.

It was not the scattered, polite applause from earlier. It was orderly, rhythmic, and carried a certain weight of recognition.

Gemma stayed seated.

She was the only person in the entire auditorium still sitting.

When the person beside her stood and brushed her shoulder, she flinched as if she had been burned.

Then she slowly rose to her feet.

Her hands hung at her sides.

She did not clap.

The signing process was brief.

I signed my name in the designated place and stamped the document.

The host announced that the project had officially entered the commercial release process.

The final slide appeared on the large screen.

Technical Authorization List.

Each of the seven commercial scenarios had a small line beneath it: Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

Authorization Term: One year.

Authorization Status: The licensor may revoke authorization unilaterally.

The slide stayed on the screen for about ten seconds.

During those ten seconds, I did not look at Gemma.

But I knew she was looking at that slide.

Because of the seven scenario names on it, four were the projects her entire career depended on.

She had used those four projects to obtain the acting head position, take my clients, take my desk, and earn

the right to lecture the entire company during an integrity training session.

But the foundation beneath those four projects had never been hers.

From the very beginning, it had been mine.

After signing, I returned to the standby seating area.

I did not say another word.

The fifth agenda item of the summit continued.

Gemma sat in the third row and did not move again until the summit ended.

When the summit ended, the crowd streamed toward the exit.

Several directors I didn’t know came over to shake my hand.

“Ms. Hart, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“This project took four years. You must have worked hard.”

“Let’s stay in touch if there are opportunities to collaborate.”

Gemma walked past behind me.

She was close enough for our shoulders to brush.

Her perfume smelled the same as it had half a month ago, but her steps were different now.

They were much faster now.

It was as if she were running away.