A few seconds passed before the picture on the screen sharpened into focus.
It was a modest little piano room-a battered upright piano that looked cheap even at a glance, and a gentle-faced woman in a faded floral dress. Her hair was half tied back, a few loose strands falling around her cheeks as she gazed softly downward.
"Ready when you are, Miss," piped up a young, earnest voice from behind the camera. The woman in the frame didn't reply; it was clear the voice belonged to whoever was filming.
The moment that voice rang out, most people in the recital hall felt a flicker of recognition.
As everyone puzzled over it, the voice spoke up again, this time more insistent: "Come on, Miss, don't be shy! This piece is beautiful-we have to record it properly." Gradually, all eyes turned to Emily Blair, and in the next instant, realization dawned.
The voice in the video and Emily Blair's voice now-they were nearly identical. Emily Blair was the one behind the camera.
On screen, the woman turned her head and offered a small, resigned smile, her eyes gentle but tinged with exasperation. "Alright, if you say so."
"Wait—wait, wait!" the voice squeaked as the woman poised her hands above the keys. A hand darted into the frame from behind the camera, and both the woman and those watching wore matching looks of confusion.
"I have to record the time and place first!" The woman shook her head, smiling despite herself.
The voice cleared its throat theatrically. "Hello, everyone! Before you, you see a future world-renowned pianist, Vivian Martin! Today is June 27th, 2021, ten-uh- fifty-three in the morning, and Vivian is about to play an original composition of hers, 'Desire'!"
“Please listen closely to this great pianist's masterpiece!"
With that, the voice dropped to a hurried whisper: "Go on, you can start now!"
The woman's smile softened. She lifted her hands, slender fingers hovering above the keys, and began to play-familiar notes tumbling out, filling the small room with music.
But in the hall, no one was really listening to the music anymore.
The moment the video had introduced the woman as Vivian Martin, shock rippled through the room, freezing everyone in place.
That woman-Vivian Martin?
How could she possibly be Vivian Martin?
Hadn't Isabella Austin always claimed that "Vivian Martin” was just an old pseudonym of hers?
Was it just a shared name, or...?
Uncertainty and suspicion flickered through the crowd. Every pair of eyes was glued to the big screen.
Right then, Emily Blair picked up the microphone, her gaze fixed on Isabella Austin, though she addressed the audience. "I know all of you have a lot of questions, but please, just watch the rest of the video. Afterward, I'll answer everything."
Even though Isabella had prepared herself, from the very first second the video appeared, at the very first mention of “Vivian Martin,” her heart pounded out of control. Panic buzzed in her head; her palms grew slick with sweat.
She met Emily Blair's dark, clear eyes, but in her mind she kept hearing that voice from the video.
Of course. Of course Emily Blair knew Vivian Martin. They knew each other.
Not only did they know each other, but Emily Blair had kept a video that could prove everything.
Isabella didn't need to guess what piece was being played in the video, or why Emily Blair had chosen to reveal it here, of all places.
Emily Blair wanted to expose her, right here, in front of everyone, at the Starlight Piano Competition-this competition that meant everything. She was determined to reveal the truth about the plagiarism.
Emily Blair was burning her bridges.
Emily Blair had never given up on clearing Vivian Martin's name.
If Emily Blair succeeded, Isabella would be finished.
Her hands clenched tight, her smile frozen in place.
She'd thought she was ready for this, but confronted with Emily Blair's relentless preparation, she couldn't help but feel a wave of panic.
Her eyes flicked to a far corner of the stage. Inch by inch, her expression hardened, her resolve steeling as she readied herself for what was to come.