Gemotions

The accusations, echoing in the cramped office, were like distant thunder, barely registering on Michael's radar. He remained perfectly still, hands clasped loosely in his lap, his gaze fixed on a point just beyond the professor's shoulder. He knew better.

He'd anticipated this confrontation. He was, after all, the architect, the artist. The professor was simply a clumsy observer.

He offered a curt nod. "I'm confident," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "that a thorough review will reveal the true nature of my contribution." His inner state was one of patient expectation, a waiting period.