His eyes were red-rimmed, glistening. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees before me.
Thud.
"I know you switched the paintings because you wanted first place. Fine—I'll give you the title. You can have the championship. But please, can you at least give me back the prize money?" His voice cracked. "If you want me to ghost-paint for you in the future, just ask. You don't have to steal my work."
Bonnie rushed forward, cradling him protectively. "A man's knees are worth their weight in gold! You're the victim here—why should you kneel to him?!"
If I agreed with anything Cliff said, I'd be confessing on the spot.
I kept my voice level. "As far as I know, tuition is twelve thousand a year. You could sell any single item you're wearing and cover that several times over." I paused. "And for the record—I have zero interest in winning a traditional painting competition. Why would I swap anyone's work?"
Cliff's expression flickered, freezing for just a moment. Then he turned to Bonnie, wounded and helpless.