He thought he could still control the narrative.
That was his mistake.
The press conference was supposed to restore confidence.
That was the official excuse.
Unofficially, it was his last attempt to look powerful.
—
Cameras lined the room.
Reporters filled every seat.
Analysts waited, pens poised like weapons.
I stood slightly to the side—calm, composed, silent.
He stood at the center.
Alone.
—
"Thank you all for coming," he began, voice smooth but strained. "Recent events have raised concerns, but I assure you the company remains stable."
The first lie.
I didn't react.
The second came quickly.
"These issues were the result of internal misunderstandings, now resolved."
A reporter raised her hand immediately.
"Are you saying the exposed financial concealment was a misunderstanding?"
He hesitated.
Just for half a second.
But cameras love hesitation.
"I'm saying," he corrected himself, "that responsibility is shared."
Shared.
The room shifted.
Another reporter stood. "Does that include you?"
Silence.
His jaw tightened. "I acted in the company's best interest."
There it was.
The admission.
—
I saw it before anyone else did.
His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the podium.
Sweat beaded at his temple.
He was losing control.
—
"Did you authorize the off-record transfers?" someone asked.
He laughed nervously. "That's a mischaracterization."
"Then why does your signature appear on the approvals?" another voice pressed.
His eyes flicked—briefly—toward me.
Instinct.
Fear.
That single glance told the entire story.
Cameras caught it.
—
The murmurs grew louder.
"Is that an admission?"
"Is he deflecting blame?"
"Why is he looking at her?"
He tried to recover.
"I will not be scapegoated," he snapped.
Too sharp.
Too emotional.
The mask cracked.
—
I stepped forward then.
Just one step.
Not to save him.
To end him.
"The documents speak for themselves," I said calmly into the microphone. "And accountability doesn't disappear when it becomes inconvenient."
The room exploded.
Flashbulbs burst like fireworks.
His face drained of color.
—
The press conference ended in chaos.
Questions shouted.
Security intervened.
Headlines were already being written.
And his reputation?
Irreparably damaged.
—
Later, alone in the hallway, he confronted me.
"You planned this," he said hoarsely.
I met his gaze, voice quiet. "No. I let you speak."
That hurt him more than any accusation.
—
That night, the news ran the clip on repeat.
The hesitation.
The glance.
The anger.
Everyone saw it.
Everyone understood.
—
Once, he stood above me.
Tonight, he fell in front of the world.
—