The headlines arrived faster than Katherine could control them. Every major outlet was flashing with titles like:
"HERBAS SCANDAL: Katherine Samuel Under Fire for Alleged Idea Theft"
"Rising Star or Copycat? New Evidence Questions Katherine's Claims"
"Kiefer Samuel: The True Mind Behind HERBAS?"
Katherine sat frozen in her office chair, the calm veneer she wore so well now barely holding together as she stared at her tablet, lips tight and fingers trembling just slightly.
Her assistant hovered near the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt or leave her to the storm brewing outside.
She turned the screen off and tossed it onto the desk with a sharp exhale. "Where's the media consultant?" she snapped.
"I called them. They're preparing a statement… but they're also advising you not to speak to the press until we regroup."
Katherine stood up and walked to the full-length mirror in her office, adjusting her suit. She still looked the part—composed, poised, flawless. But there was a tension in her shoulders, a cloud behind her eyes that wasn't there before.
That conference.
That girl.
Kiefer.
Katherine thought she'd eliminated that risk. The moment she'd overheard whispers about Kiefer's past, she moved swiftly—claiming the idea, using her connections to fast-track the board's support, and building the HERBAS prototype on her terms. She didn't expect Kiefer to fight back, let alone publicly.
And she definitely didn't expect Davis to stay silent. His silence was more damning than any words.
She closed her eyes, thinking back to the press conference.
Kiefer's voice had been firm, not loud—just certain. She had laid out the evidence methodically. The research. The journals. The raw data. Even email chains. Everything pointed to Kiefer as the mind behind HERBAS.
Now, the press was eating it up. Investors were whispering. Some board members had already emailed her privately, asking for "clarification."
The dam was cracking.
And she could feel it.
---
Elsewhere, in the Public Arena...
Katherine's image, once synonymous with ambition and brilliance, was now under scrutiny. Social media lit up with side-by-side comparisons of HERBAS prototypes, timestamped academic files, and blurry screenshots of old college lab notes.
A trending hashtag—#JusticeForKiefer—was picking up speed.
She tried to deny it all initially, tried to brush off the accusations as "jealous noise" from a distant relative trying to ride her coattails.
But the press was relentless.
In one particularly damning interview, a bold reporter asked Katherine, "Could you walk us through how you came up with HERBAS? What specific research did you conduct to arrive at your formula?"
Her response was a vague mess of corporate jargon and misattributed phrases. "We... synthesized ideas from multiple verticals and consolidated consumer needs into a hybrid framework that—"
The public wasn't buying it.
And then came the follow-up:
"How would you respond to claims that Kiefer Samuel, who is not only a participant in the competition but also your cousin, was the original mind behind HERBAS?"
Her practiced smile faltered. "I'm not sure where that rumor began, but ideas in a corporate ecosystem are... collaborative. We all build on each other's efforts."
Weak. Evasive. Corporate double-speak.
The damage was growing.
---
In the Private Chambers of Katherine's Mind...
She wasn't scared. Not yet.
Katherine Samuel didn't lose. She strategized. She pivoted. And above all—she survived.
But this... this was unfamiliar terrain. The betrayal she felt was sharp, but not because of Kiefer. Not entirely.
It was Davis.
He had known about the original submission. She could tell. He had that stillness in his face when she tried to pull him aside after the press conference. He didn't say it, but she saw the weight in his eyes. The calculation. The disappointment.
He was her key to power at White Pharma. She had always played the long game with him—perfect support in public, ambition in private, soft charm when needed. But now?
Now, it felt like something vital was slipping away.
No more "perfect Katherine." No more strategic smiles and tailored narratives. The public wanted answers. The board wanted truth. And Davis... Davis might no longer be on her side.
She stared out her office window, watching the clouds roll over the city skyline.
"Let them talk," she whispered to herself. "Let her bask in her fifteen minutes. This isn't over."
---