My tone was calm, but each word struck like a needle, hitting every weak spot he tried to hide.
Only later did I piece the truth together.
He had taken advantage of my absence, my distraction from my mother's illness—and exploited every gap I left behind.
As an intern, he couldn't access the actual core systems, but he had full visibility into test scripts, process files, and secondary modules.
In just a month, he carefully crafted an illusion—one where he appeared to be "deeply involved," even "leading the project."
Lester's face shifted instantly. His smug pride and false composure crumbled, replaced by shame and rage at being exposed. His cheeks flushed crimson; his breathing grew uneven.
"Y-you're talking nonsense!" he snapped, voice trembling, eyes darting everywhere but at me.
"You know exactly whether I'm talking nonsense," I said coldly.
"The so-called core modules you claimed to have written—the underlying functions, the logic framework—they're identical to the architecture I built."
"You just wrapped them in clumsy layers of redundant code and sprinkled in flashy, meaningless comments."