In my previous life, the contest entry I submitted turned out to be identical to Geoffrey Harrington's, word for word.
The judges flagged it immediately.
As an author who'd already won multiple awards, I had a real shot at first place.
But the moment the duplicate surfaced, I was dragged into a firestorm.
I went to Clementine, the editor who'd given me the story inspiration, and to Clara, the childhood sweetheart I spent every day with, begging them to speak up for me.
They refused. Worse—they went public, told everyone they were ashamed to even know me.
Clara took it further. She posted online announcing she was cutting all ties with me, and the post exploded—dragging me and my parents into a harassment campaign that never stopped.
The reason I'd entered the contest in the first place was the three-hundred-thousand-dollar first-place prize.
An illness had taken Clementine's voice. She would never speak again.
I wanted that money to pay for surgery to bring it back.