Chapter 3

The handoff of 'Whisper of the Tide' happened on the third day of my trip.

It was an exquisite, incredibly fragile piece of art, packed in a massive crate filled with foam and suspension air cushions.

I had started my journey from that $299 budget hotel, ordering an Uber XL just to squeeze the massive crate into the back.

The driver was a chatty guy. Seeing me hold onto the box like my life depended on it, he asked curiously,

"What kind of treasure you got in there, kid?"

"The company’s future," I said dryly.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and stopped talking. He just drove a lot more carefully.

During the two-hour drive, I barely moved. I used my own body as a buffer, absorbing every bump on the highway.

By the time we arrived at the TEK Group headquarters, my back was soaked in sweat. My arms were trembling from tension.

Stephen Vance’s assistant, Jax, came down to meet me. Seeing my disheveled state, he looked surprised.

"Chloe? Did you... run here?"

I shook my head, pointing to the SUV parked by the curb. "Just came from my hotel."

Jax nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on the sweat beads on my forehead with sudden curiosity.

The handoff went smoothly. They had professional equipment to unload and open the crate.

Under the gallery lights, 'Whisper of the Tide' shone in a dreamlike, oceanic blue.

The internal air bubbles and textures mimicked crashing waves. It was breathtaking.

Stephen Vance came down to inspect it personally. He put on white gloves and examined every inch of the sculpture.

"Perfect," he said, taking off his gloves and turning to me.

"The core technique lies in the uneven distribution of internal air bubbles, simulating the randomness of real tides."

"Every bubble is hand-blown by master artisans. It’s one of a kind."

"But that also means it is incredibly fragile. Any damage would destroy its value. It's irreplaceable."

"And it's extremely sensitive to vibration frequencies during transit," I added. "Luckily, the ride was smooth."

Stephen’s eyes flashed with surprise, which quickly turned into appreciation.

"Thank you for your hard work, Chloe. Marcus is lucky to have an employee like you."

I just smiled and said nothing.

Oh, it was a lucky day for him, alright. Just not the kind he wanted.

I knew the artwork wasn't perfectly fine.

During those long, bumpy hours crossing state lines in a standard SUV, one of the internal mounting brackets had rattled loose from the constant vibration.

This caused the edge of the sculpture's base to rub micro-scratches against the inner wall of the crate.

The scratch was as thin as a strand of hair. But I knew it was there. It was all part of my plan.

Back in the office, Marcus’s secretary’s report was like a bucket of ice water dumped right over his burning rage.

"Scratches? What scratches?" He snatched the phone from her hand.

"Mr. Vance! Hello, hello, this is Marcus."

Whatever Stephen said on the other end made Marcus’s spine curve instantly. A fake, sickeningly sweet smile plastered over his face.

"A mistake, surely! Our quality control is top-tier. How could there be scratches?"

"Maybe it's the lighting? Yes, yes, please have another look."

"What? You already had your appraisal experts look at it? Confirmed it happened during transit?"

Marcus’s face was now whiter than the copy paper on his desk.

He whipped his head around, staring at me with a look that wanted to rip me to shreds.

I met his gaze calmly, even taking a moment to straighten my collar.

"Mr. Vance, let me explain, the employee responsible for transit... she..."

Marcus started to stutter. He wanted to throw me under the bus.

But he didn't dare. He was terrified that if he pushed me, I would blab about the $7,338 Uber bill right to Stephen Vance.

That would be a spectacular disaster.

He would go from being a "strict boss" to a cheap, reckless merchant who shipped a multi-million-dollar fragile artwork via Uber to save on lodging.

The eight-million-dollar deal would vanish instantly.

Watching him sweat, trapped in a corner of his own making, a wave of pure satisfaction washed over me.

When you docked my eighty dollars and stole my two-thousand-dollar bonus, you felt so powerful, didn't you?

Now, it’s your turn.