Page after page of densely annotated equations were laid bare for everyone to see.
More importantly, every single page was dated at the bottom, accompanied by a specific signature: K-07.
The color drained from Ursula's face, her hands gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. "So what! Do you have a patent? Without an official patent, those mean absolutely nothing!"
But it was Hulda's next move that truly sent her into a panic.
After cycling through the manuscript scans, a screenshot of an academic journal article appeared on the monitor.
The second she recognized the publication, a single, horrifying realization echoed in Ursula's mind: *I'm done.*
Standing at the front of the room, Hulda met the crowd with a calm, serious gaze. "I published this paper four years ago in the Journal of Precision Measurement & Sensing Technology. It was a relatively niche publication and the physical editions have since been discontinued, but the digital archives are still accessible."
The entire room leaned in, noting the date stamped on the digital page. It was exactly four years ago.
But what truly sent a shockwave through the room was the author's name: K-07.
"K-07? Wait, isn't that... Director Atherton?" someone murmured loudly.
The conference room erupted into absolute pandemonium.
No one could blame the researchers for losing their minds—the revelation was genuinely earth-shattering.
"Wait, are you telling me her entire project is just plagiarized from a paper the Director wrote four years ago?"
"And she couldn't even plagiarize it correctly? She dumbed down the critical variables and almost caused a meltdown?"
There had been several other researchers in the breakroom with them at the time. They had all heard her frantically deny any knowledge of the publication when Abby had asked if she was the author, right before she mercilessly tore into the younger girl.
Because of that, her current defense held zero credibility.
"I can officially verify that Director Atherton is K-07," Brandon stated firmly. Wanting to nip any claims of favoritism in the bud, he added, "If you still harbor any doubts, you are more than welcome to pull up the institute's HR archives from eight or nine years ago. You will see that her assigned employee ID back then was K-07."
Prompted by his words, someone immediately logged into the secure network on their laptop. Sure enough, Hulda's old employee profile was right there under the ID: K-07.
"Holy shit. Her employee ID really was K-07!"
At that, the very last bit of life drained from Ursula's face.
She knew it was over. There was no coming back from this.

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