My Bestie Reported My Fake Degree, But My Real Identity Terrified Her Chapter 13

My Bestie Reported My Fake Degree, But My Real Identity Terrified Her Chapter 13

“Gemma, you can’t log in to your project management system.”

When Jordan’s voice came through the phone, Gemma was sitting at her workstation, which had once been

mine, with a cup of coffee in front of her that had gone cold long ago.

It was 9:03 a.m. on the morning after the summit.

“What do you mean I can’t log in?”

“The system says the underlying authorization verification failed. All related files have been placed in read–only mode. They can’t be edited or exported.”

Gemma said nothing.

She turned on her computer.

The project management platform’s login page appeared normally.

She entered her username and password.

The page loaded for three seconds before a red warning appeared.

“The technical module you are using depends on external authorization. Current authorization status: pending confirmation. Please contact the licensor.”

It all came down to the licensor.

She closed the warning box.

Then she tried to open Mr. Parker’s project folder.

The folder loaded, the icon spun, and the same red warning appeared.

She tried again with the second project.

It loaded, spun, and returned the same red warning.

She tried the third project, then the fourth.

They were all the same.

She began clicking through the file directory, drilling down one layer at a time.

When she reached the fourth level, every file’s properties panel showed a small line she had never noticed before.

Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

Authorization Term: One year.

Authorization Status: Revocable by the licensor at any time.

She clicked back through the files.

The proposal from January. Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

The technical optimization report submitted in March. Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

The core architecture she had taken into client negotiations in May. Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

The data model cited in the PowerPoint she had presented during the integrity training session in July. Technical Licensor: Lynn Hart.

Every single file showed the same thing.

There were no exceptions.

༡

She opened the detailed authorization information for one of the files.

At the bottom was a gray line of tiny text, so small it was almost impossible to read without zooming in.

“This technical authorization is based on Project Prism Agreement No. 37. The licensor reserves the right to revoke all authorization unilaterally without prior notice. Upon revocation, the licensee may no longer use the relevant technology, and existing commercial applications will be frozen.”

Frozen status meant the projects in her hands had not simply been lost; overnight, they had turned into empty shells.

The architecture was still there. The data was still there.

But the underlying technology that kept them running no longer belonged to her.

It never had.

Gemma closed her laptop.

The office was so quiet that only the hum of the air conditioner could be heard.

Across from her, Mia kept her head lowered and did not look at her.

Jordan stood in the aisle, unsure whether to come closer or walk away.

Gemma picked up her phone and called me.

It rang three times before I answered.

“You already revoked it.”

“No. The system says Pending Confirmation, not Revoked.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you still have time.”

There was silence on her end.

It lasted about ten seconds.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything.”

“Then why didn’t you just revoke it?”

“Because revoking the authorization would affect active client partnerships and ongoing commercial projects. Mr. Parker’s project is in there. Mr. Reynolds’s is in there. Mr. Lewis’s is in there. They shouldn’t have to pay for what you did.”

She said nothing.

“Gemma, I never wanted to turn against you. You held on to what happened with last year’s promotion because you thought I stole your opportunity. You spent three months looking into my educational background, wrote an accusation letter, turned my coworkers against me, took over my workstation, and held a company–wide public shaming session. I didn’t stop you because I thought you would stop once you had made enough noise.”

“But you didn’t stop. You even called clients and told them I had falsified my credentials.”

The other end of the line was very quiet.

“Gemma, you’re the one who pushed yourself into this position. I didn’t.”

When she suddenly spoke, her voice was different from the one she had used in the parking garage yesterday.

Yesterday, it had been stubborn.

Today, it was empty.

“Lynn, do you know what I hate most about you?”

“What?”

“I reported you, and you didn’t get angry. You got suspended, and you didn’t get angry. They took your computer, and you didn’t get angry. I plastered that integrity banner where the whole company could see it, and you still didn’t get angry. You just sat at that awful temporary desk without saying a single unnecessary

word, as if nothing had happened.”

“The less angry you were, the more scared I became. I knew you were waiting for something. I just didn’t

know what.”

“Now I know.”

Her voice broke for a moment.

“You were waiting for me to cut off every way out for myself.”

I did not deny it.

Because she was right.

If she had stopped after looking into my educational background, nothing would have happened. If she had stopped after reporting me and seeing that card, nothing would have happened. If she had not spread the accusation that I had falsified my credentials to my clients, nothing would have happened.

But she had not stopped once.

She had not wanted to stop.

That promotion slot had planted a thorn in her heart. Every day, that thorn grew until it became an entire thicket of brambles, trapping her inside.

“I’ll give you three days on the authorization issue.”

“What happens after three days?”

“After three days, I’ll make a decision based on the situation. You can choose to explain the situation to the director and the clients yourself, and make clear what you’ve done during this period. Or you can do nothing and let the system process it automatically.”

“What happens if the system processes it automatically?”

“Everything will be revoked. Every project under your control will be frozen. The technical clauses in the commercial contracts will automatically become invalid. The clients will receive notice that the licensor has changed.”

“You’re forcing me to resign.”

“I’m giving you a choice. Do you remember the first thing I taught you on your first day here three years ago?”

She did not answer.

“I told you to look at the underlying logic before writing a proposal. Did you?”

The call ended.

I was not the one who ended it.

She was the one who ended it.