Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the muted grey of her screen. It contained the evidence: side-by-side comparisons of passages from her unpublished manuscript and the latest bestseller by Alistair Finch. Her stomach twisted, a hard knot forming where her lunch had been. She scrolled through the document, each line a fresh stab. She opened the curtains, letting the bright morning light assault her eyes.

Amelia’s fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the desk as she started compiling a detailed spreadsheet, meticulously documenting every borrowed phrase, every plagiarized plot point. She printed it all, the paper hot against her fingertips. She then grabbed her coat.

The walk to the lawyer’s office was a blur of rapid steps and clenched fists. She didn't acknowledge the friendly greetings from the people she passed. The lawyer's waiting room was too cheerful for her.