Chapter 2: The Photograph in the Purse
The sound of the sl@p echoed through the ballroom.
She staggered back, clutching her cheek.
“How dare you!”
Her father shot to his feet.
“Security!
Get her out of here before she says another word!”
I smiled.
“You’re not afraid of what I’ll say.
You’re afraid of what they’ll find.”
His phone vibrated again.
A message filled the screen:
EVIDENCE VERIFIED.
ACCOUNTS FROZEN.
WARRANTS PENDING.
He quickly turned the phone facedown, but his daughter had already seen it.
“What evidence?” she demanded.
“Father, what did she send them?”
“Be quiet,” he snapped.
Her anger vanished.
“You promised those records were destroyed.”
A wave of whispers swept through the room.
Cameras turned toward him, but the old man stared only at me.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said.
“I know exactly what I’ve done.”
Then his daughter grabbed my empty purse and shook it desperately.
A small photograph slipped from a hidden seam and landed beside the ruined contract.
Her father froze.
She picked it up, looked at the image, and whispered, “Why is my mother standing beside her?”
His face twisted with fear.
“Put that down.”
I reached for the photograph, but he seized my wrist and hissed, “If she learns who you really are, this empire won’t be the only thing that falls.”
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Why was her mother in that photograph—and who was I really?
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