WHO IS MALIK HAMPTON?

The Exchange

The room pulsed with tension as Sarah approached the podium, the velvet wrapped box in her hands trembling only slightly. 

With every step, she summoned composure from the depths of her breeding, ignoring the prying eyes, the speculative murmurs. She set the gift down before her grandfather, Paul Roy, and unwrapped it with slow, deliberate elegance.

Paul leaned forward with interest, his stern features softening as the lid lifted to reveal a bottle of vintage wine, a 1945 Chateau Mouton Rothschild, one of his most cherished labels. His eyes sparked, a rare gleam of sentiment lighting them.

“Well, now this is a memory.” He murmured, fingers brushing the aged label with reverence.

A hush fell over the room as the patriarch examined the gift, the moment teetering between redemption and rejection.

Then, like a shadow sliding across a painting, Janet stepped forward.

"Grandfather, shouldn’t we verify the value, just like the others?" She said, her voice honeyed with concern.

Paul waved a hand dismissively. “No need. This wine is older than most people in this room. I know its worth.”

Janet pressed her hands together with faux modesty. “Of course, but with all the...attention tonight, it might reflect poorly if we don’t show transparency.”

 She smiled sweetly, yet her eyes glinted with the sharpness of a blade. “Just a simple scan. Surely Sarah wouldn't object.”

All eyes swung to Sarah.

She stood frozen with her lips parting in her mouth, then closing again. Of course it was real. She had triple checked it. That bottle was appraised at $2.5 million, authenticated and sealed with documents. But now, doubt slid into her mind like poison.

Before she could respond, the bottle was gently lifted from the table and taken toward the scanner stationed beside the gift table. The crowd leaned in. Whispers stirred like dry leaves.

The screen lit up.

Estimated value: $300.

And beneath it displayed a Warning: COUNTERFEIT ITEM DETECTED.

The room broke into a storm.

Gasps, disbelief and disdain.

“Fake?”

“Did she just….”

“She gave Paul Roy a forgery?”

Cameras clicked furiously. Laughter, sharp and gleeful erupted from certain corners. Sarah stood motionless, the color draining from her face.

Paul Roy’s expression withered into something bleak and unreadable.

“No, this...this isn’t right…” Sarah whispered, barely audible.

Janet stepped forward with exaggerated horror. “Oh, Sarah… How could you? If it was a mistake, say so. But lying to grandfather on his birthday?” Her voice rang out, saccharine and venomous.

"I…. " Sarah tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She looked around wildly, searching for the maid, the gift bag, anything that could prove she was telling the truth. But there was nothing.

Janet clasped a hand to her chest. “I know you've always had his favor, Sarah. But this?” She turned to the guests. “Even the Roy name doesn’t cover fraud.”

Paul's lips curled, not in a snarl, but in that chilling stillness of a man who has been wounded by someone he never thought capable of betrayal.

“Is this true, Sarah?” he asked, his voice low and heavy.

She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat like thorns. What could she say? That someone switched her gift? That she’d been set up? That Janet, maybe, had planted a fake and manipulated the moment perfectly?

Without proof, it would only make her look worse.

“I don’t understand… It was real. I—” She muttered, broken. But the crowd didn’t care. They were already murmuring, forming conclusions, taking sides. And most of them weren’t on hers.

Janet stepped closer to Paul. “Grandfather, I mean this with respect, but perhaps… Sarah should step down from the Roy board. She’s become a liability. The scandal, the gift, the husband who’s never around... it’s too much.”

Sarah flinched. “No….”

Evelyn Roy, her own mother, raised a wine glass and nodded in agreement. “Janet’s right, we can’t afford another embarrassment. We have investors watching.” She said coolly.

Beneath the haze of humiliation, Sarah’s fury boiled. But she had no words, no defense, only pain she couldn't voice.

Michelle DeWitt sidled up beside her, his tone suddenly gentle. “Sarah, you don’t have to go through this alone. Let me help you.” He said quietly, his lips close to her ear.

Sarah stared ahead, blinking back the burn in her eyes.

“If we were together,” he continued, “I could protect you from them. Bring you back into the spotlight. You know I can. I’m not like Malik who doesn't show up. I'll show up.”

Her pulse spiked. There it was, the offer, the lifeline with strings. A promise of redemption… at a price.

He brushed a thumb over the back of her hand. “Leave him, Sarah. Choose someone who’s here.”

Sarah couldn’t breathe. Every voice in the room melted into static. Her shoulders sagged as the weight of years, expectations, mistakes and betrayals crushed her all at once.

Was this the end?

Would she let Michelle save her?

Was Malik ever coming back?

The room seemed to close in, the walls whispering her failures back to her.

Then, Boom.

The ballroom doors burst open.

A rush of cool air swept in like a storm front, silencing the laughter and turning every head toward the entrance.

Standing in the doorway was Malik, in a tailored black suit, his presence sharp and cutting like a blade drawn from its sheath. 

Malik's eyes were dark with an unreadable expression. His eyes scanned the room until they found Sarah. Then he looked at Paul, Janet and David.

As if he had listened to their conversation. 

“It’s not over.” his voice echoed, low and unwavering, slicing through the tension like a gunshot.