Chapter 4

The afternoon sun beat down on me as I hurried toward my storage unit. After losing my apartment, my bank account, and my reputation, I needed something—anything—that was still mine. My portfolio. The original sketches that would prove I wasn't a plagiarist. They were my last hope.

I fumbled with the padlock, my fingers trembling with urgency. The metal door rolled up with a harsh screech that matched the panic rising in my chest. I stepped inside, expecting to see my carefully packed canvases and portfolios.

Empty. The concrete floor was bare except for a few scraps of bubble wrap…