I get in and close the door, and the limo pulls out into the traffic.
“I want you to know that we don’t believe anything about this, and we are simply here for you,” Tristan says.
“What’s going on?” I snap as agitation washes over me.
Elliot hands me the paper. I stare at it for a moment, and it takes a few seconds for my brain to process what I’m seeing.
The front page of the Gazette is a huge image of Emily kissing Jake the investigator.
She’s holding his hand and smiling as his lips press to hers. It looks as though it’s in a restaurant or something.
I frown as my chest tightens. “What the fuck is this?” I snap angrily as I flick the paper.
I scan the story.
Jameson Miles—Media Guru’s Fall from Grace
In what appears to be the final nail in Jameson Miles’s media coffin, his fiancée, Emily Foster, has been having a secret affair. The two have been spotted in various locations and were snapped holidaying in Italy two months ago. Leaked bank statements released today prove that Jameson Miles has been embezzling money and transferring it to an offshore account. The board is expected to fire him as CEO of Miles Media today, and criminal charges will be laid. Looks like Emily Foster jumped ship just in time.
Chapter 21
I look up to my brothers, speechless.
I stare back down at the photo of Emily. She’s wearing her yellow dress . . . the same one she was wearing yesterday. My eyebrows rise by themselves as I try to make sense of this. “When was this taken?”
“No idea, but it had to be lately. She has the bracelet on that you bought her.”
I glance down to her arm, and sure enough, the diamond-and-gold bracelet is on her arm.
Can it be?
I frown—a clusterfuck of questions . . . not my Emily, no.
“We know it’s not you,” Elliot says. “You’ve been hacked; we will prove it. I promise you.”
“What?” I frown, unable to string a sentence together. I drag my eyes up to my brothers in confusion.
“There’ve been transfers, Jameson. Millions of dollars have left our bank accounts with your password,” Christopher says solemnly.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?” I whisper. “I don’t understand.” I glance back down at the image. “When was this photo taken?”
“This is a setup; I’m sure of it,” Tristan snaps. “Emily wouldn’t do this.”
“What?” I frown, unable to believe what I’m hearing. I run my two hands through my hair as I begin to perspire; adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Elliot snaps. “The timi
ng of this image going to print is no coincidence.”
I frown as my eyes come to Elliot.
“Has Emily been in your apartment alone?” he asks.
I stare at him, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion.
“Has she had access to your computers, Jameson?” Christopher snaps.
I screw my face up. “Yes . . . but . . .”