Emily studied the tux for two seconds, then nodded and addressed the officers and the onlookers, voice ringing bright:
“Yes, I ordered that for Jason from an Italian designer. It cost six figures for the set. Will, you just got back—where would you get that kind of money? You must have stolen it.”
“Six figures?” I blinked—so the Lewis family’s gift was that extravagant.
But colder than the price was Emily’s lie.
To defend Jason, she flipped black to white in public and dumped the filth on me.
With her backing him up, Jason straightened, stepping in to grab my lapel.
“Will, I’ll be reasonable—take off the tux now and hand it back. I won’t press the credit-card theft, and you can walk.”
His buddies raised their phones, ready to film me being stripped, snickering about how it would go viral.
Emily added a tone of “kind” persuasion:
“Will, just listen to Jason. Take it off and spare everyone the trouble. If you’re short on cash, I can transfer you some—don’t make a scene you’ll regret.”
“A scene?” I laughed, looking at the pair.
“So you both think I’ll never afford a six-figure tux in my life?”