Chapter 13 - The Fall of NorthbridgeThe bullet hit the monitor.
Glass exploded.
Harold tackled Steve.
Daniel dragged Lucy behind a cabinet.
Mom stood frozen.
I crawled toward the computer.
The upload had completed.
Every Northbridge file was now public.
There was nothing Steve could do.
Police stormed the warehouse.
Real police this time.
Steve was arrested.
Mom was arrested.
But the night wasn't over.
The investigation spread rapidly.
Northbridge collapsed in forty-eight hours.
Bank accounts were frozen.
Properties seized.
Executives arrested.
Politicians resigned.
People who had ignored my family for years suddenly wanted interviews.
I refused.
I didn't care about headlines.
I cared about the house.
When I finally returned home, the furniture was still scattered everywhere.
Lucy sat on the floor.
Her children were asleep upstairs.
She looked exhausted.
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“I don't.”
She looked down.
“I deserved that.”
I walked through the house.
The sofa Steve had brought was gone.
The gold cabinet was gone.
Everything foreign had been removed.
My kitchen was mine again.
But it didn't feel the same.
Too many secrets had lived inside these walls.
Then Daniel found something.
A hidden panel behind the fireplace.
Inside was a final envelope.
My father's handwriting.
I opened it.
Jenny,
There is one truth left.
My heart sank.
The trust was never intended to protect the family from outsiders.
It was designed to protect the family from itself.
I read the next line.
I knew your mother would eventually choose money over love.
I stopped.
Then:
But there is one person I believed would never betray you.
I looked at Lucy.
My sister was standing in the doorway.
The next line read:
Lucy.
She burst into tears.
“I didn't deserve that.”
I looked at her.
“You saved the evidence.”
She nodded.
“I tried.”
The letter continued.
If Lucy ever betrays you, forgive her once. Never twice.
I stared at the sentence.
“Why?”
Because Dad knew something I didn't.
A final page was attached.
It contained a bank account.
Not mine.
Lucy's.
And the balance was $4.2 million.
I looked at her.
“What is this?”
Her face went white.
“I don't know.”
The account had been funded months before Dad's death.
The beneficiary was Lucy.
But the sender was hidden.
Then the bank record updated on my phone.
ACCOUNT ACTIVATED TODAY.
Someone had just transferred $4.2 million into Lucy's account.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“Your father wasn't planning to leave you Northbridge.”
“Then what was he planning?”
“To destroy it.”
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A pause.
“And he left you the evidence because you're the only one ruthless enough to finish the job.”
