Emily arched an eyebrow. “You have a recording? Well, that makes things easier.”
Once she had the recording, Emily untied the rope binding Larry’s wrists. “You can go. I’ll explain everything to the police. But afterward, you’d better post a public apology and set the record straight online.”
Larry didn’t respond. He kept his head down, quietly working the rope off his own wrists.
Once he was free, Emily stood up. Larry remained on the floor, still staring at his shoes, motionless.
A faint smile tugged at Emily’s lips.
Larry had always considered himself exceptionally talented. That’s why, after being eliminated, he’d taken his anger out on her, convincing himself she’d cheated her way into the next round rather than admitting he just hadn’t been good enough.
It was no wonder Isabella Austin had been able to use him so easily; he was blinded by his own pride.
Now, making him apologize publicly meant forcing him to admit he wasn’t as good as she was. For someone so convinced of his own superiority, that had to be excruciating—maybe even worse than being eliminated. No wonder he was taking it so hard.
Emily turned to leave, but behind her, Larry’s voice broke the silence.
“Emily.”
She glanced back. “What is it?”
Larry was still staring at the floor, but now he pushed himself to his feet.
His voice was low and heavy with defeat. “I’m sorry.”
Emily’s brows lifted. For a second, she thought she must have misheard him.
Larry Mitchell, apologizing to her face?

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