Chapter 138 Scammer's Tattoo Fail

Chapter 138 Scammer's Tattoo Fail
Emma's POV:

"You asshole!"

The furious shout jolted me awake. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and scanning the beach.

A few yards away, a woman was clutching a man's arm, refusing to let him leave. Her voice carried across the sand as she screamed, "Pervert! You have no shame! In broad daylight, you touched me!"

The man looked completely baffled. "I didn't! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Before he could say more, several men appeared from nowhere, surrounding him like vultures. They formed a tight circle, cutting off any escape route.

"Sexually harassing a young woman in public? That's disgusting," one of them said, pointing an accusatory finger. "We should call the police!"

"I told you I didn't touch her!" the man protested, frustration evident in his voice. "I was just sitting here minding my own business when she walked up to me! Go ahead and call the police—I didn't do anything!"

An older man stepped forward, his expression grave. "Listen, young man, I'd advise you to settle this privately. Sexual harassment charges will leave a permanent stain on your record."

"I don't care. I didn't do anything wrong," the man insisted, shaking his head.

"Got any proof you didn't do it?" someone from the crowd called out.

The man's face fell as he realized he had no way to prove his innocence.

"I can vouch for him," I said, rising from my lounge chair and walking toward the scene. The hot sand burned between my toes as I approached. "I didn't see him touch her."

The woman's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"You shameless pervert!" I suddenly screamed, slapping one of the men who had appeared to accuse the victim.

Everyone froze.

"What the fuck? Why did you hit me?" the man I'd slapped demanded, his hand on his reddening cheek.

I ignored him, leaning toward the accused man. "What's your name?" I whispered.

"Jason," he replied quietly, confusion and hope battling in his eyes.

I turned back to the man I'd slapped. "How dare you touch me!"

"I never touched you! I'm standing a yard away from you!" he spluttered.

"Do you have any proof you didn't touch me?" I asked, mimicking the earlier accusation with a cold smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Do you have proof I did?" he countered, but his voice wavered.

I turned to Jason. "Did you see him touch me?"

Jason caught on immediately. "Yes, I saw everything."

"What about you guys?" I asked my security team, who had gathered behind me like a wall of muscle.

"Saw it clear as day," one of them nodded, his face serious.

"Definitely him," another confirmed with absolute certainty.

"That's right," a third added, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man's face contorted with frustration. "This is bullshit! I didn't move an inch!"

"Call the police," I demanded loudly. "I'm pressing sexual harassment charges!"

The group exchanged panicked glances. The man I'd slapped gave a subtle nod to the woman, and they both turned to leave, attempting to blend into the growing crowd of onlookers.

"Stop right there," I commanded. My security team immediately formed a circle around the entire group, blocking their escape.

I pointed at the woman. "How old are you? Are you even an adult?"

She glared at me but remained silent, her jaw clenched tight.

"The nerve of you," I continued, disgust dripping from my voice. "Running scams in broad daylight on a public beach."

"How did you—" she began, her voice high-pitched with panic.

"You want to know how I figured it out?" I cut her off. "Next time you try to scam someone, wear long pants." I gestured toward her ankle, then to the man beside her. "Both of you should. Matching Pikachu and Psyduck tattoos? Real subtle for supposed strangers."

"And you," I turned to the older man who had suggested settling privately, "a man your age with a Squirtle tattoo? Really?"

I inspected the rest of the group. "Charmander, though the color's off... and Slowpoke. The Pokémon scam gang! How creative."

"You know why I'm talking so much?" I asked with a smirk. "I'm waiting for the police to arrive. I'm dying to see what happens when the cops meet the Pokémon crew."

As if on cue, several police officers jogged across the sand toward us, their uniforms dark with sweat in the tropical heat.

"It's you guys again?" The lead officer sighed when he spotted the group. "You were just released two days ago!"

"Repeat offenders," I chuckled. "Should've guessed."

"They alternate between running dating scams and fake injury cons," the officer explained to me. "Many innocent people have been framed by them. We've been trying to catch them in the act."

The police escorted the entire group away, with the Pikachu woman throwing me a venomous glare over her shoulder. "This isn't over," she hissed, but I just waved cheerfully as they disappeared down the beach.

Jason approached me, gratitude written across his face. "Thank you for stepping in. My brain just froze when they surrounded me."

"No big deal," I shrugged, then nodded toward the surfboard propped against his beach towel. "That's a limited edition design from that small French brand, isn't it? The craftsmanship is unmistakable."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You know this board?"

"I've got several from the same designer in my collection," I said with a smile.

"Want to catch some waves?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"I'd be honored," Jason grinned.

We spent the next hour in an exhilarating surfing session. The waves were perfect—not too aggressive but challenging enough to make it interesting. Jason was good, really good. He executed a perfect aerial maneuver that had me whooping in appreciation. I responded with my own 360, skimming across the wave's surface before cutting back into its heart. It was the kind of friendly competition that made surfing so addictive.

When I finally returned to Alexander, breathless and grinning from ear to ear, he handed me an energy drink. His eyes traced the water running down my collarbone, and he smiled appreciatively.

"Had fun?" he asked, his eyes warm with affection.

"The best," I replied, collapsing onto the lounge chair beside him. "That guy's a serious surfer. He could probably go pro if he wanted."

Before I could continue gushing about the surfing session, Bill approached us with a tense expression. He'd just ended a phone call, and his face had turned serious. T

"Mr. Sterling," he said urgently, "Vivian is making moves."