Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
I slip the papers back into the envelope with shaking hands, but it’s useless. The damage is already done. Truth doesn’t go back into hiding because I’m not ready to face it.
My reflection stares back at me from the black screen of the laptop—wide eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, lips parted like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. For a second, I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.
Good.
Because she no longer exists. Not after tonight.
I swallow hard, forcing the tremor down my throat as I drag the sleeve of my pajama top across my face. There’s no time to fall apart. Not here. Not now. Not when I’m sitting in the middle of his office with enough evidence to destroy him tucked into my hands.
Or get me killed.
My fingers hover over the keyboard before I force them to move, plugging in the USB the twin’s hacker gave me. The screen flickers once. Twice.
Then unlocks.
A cold hollow feeling settles deep in my chest.
How come this feels too easy?
Nothing about this should be easy.
The desktop loads, stark and organized. Files labeled in neat, clinical rows. Names. Dates. Locations.
People.
Not accounts. Not business dealings.
People.
My stomach burns.
I click the first folder.
A list populates the screen. Rows and rows of names with corresponding numbers beside them. Prices. Notes. Status updates.
Sold.
Pending.
Training.
My throat tightens so violently it burns.
“No…” The word barely makes it past my lips. My eyes scan faster, heart pounding harder with every line I read.
This isn’t just trafficking. This is a system. A network.
A goddamn empire.
And my father—
No…
Not my father.
He isn’t that anymore—he’s a monster. A traitor.
And he is at the center of it all.
My pulse roars in my ears as I continue scrolling, breath coming faster, sharper. Then I see it and it’s like the world has tilted on its axis.
Bailey.
My name sits there like a death sentence.
Status: Acquired.
Notes: Pending transfer to Knight, possible contingency if no cooperation.
My fingers go numb and a buzzing fills my head, drowning out everything else as I stare at the screen, failing to process the fact that I’m nothing more than a line in his system. After all these years, he’s reduced me to nothing more than a product.
Something he owns.
Something he sold.
A broken laugh bubbles up in my throat before I can stop, jagged and wrong.
“Of course,” I whisper. Of course he did this. It all makes perfect sense. Every punishment, every cold look, every moment of indifference wasn’t because I was difficult. He was correcting behavior to make me the perfect fucking cattle to sell at market.
The room tilts further, my vision blurring as I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles going white as I force myself to stay upright.
Focus.
You don’t get to fall apart. Not yet.
Not when I finally have something that can burn him to the ground.
My gaze flicks back to the envelopes sitting beside the laptop.
Two truths.
One lie.
My stomach knots as I reach for the second envelope, slower this time. More careful. Maybe if I move gently, it won’t hurt as much.
It’s a stupid thought.
I open it anyway.
Inside is a photograph.
My breath stutters.
A woman stares back at me—soft features, familiar eyes, a faint smile that feels like something I’ve seen in a dream but can’t quite remember.
Elizabeth.
My chest aches sharply, something inside me cracking open.
I let my fingers trace the edge of the photo before flipping it open.
A date and location stare back at me.
Then there is a name written beneath it in bold black ink.
Toph Erikson.
The same name Sarah spat at my fa… at Crowe. The name he is trying to eliminate. Someone powerful enough to scare him.
And it all falls into place.
Piece by piece, the puzzle comes together, edges aligning perfectly.
The confusion, the secrets, the lies—they’re all threads in the same twisted web.
And I’m right in the center of it.
A pawn.
Or… my jaw tightens.
I refuse to be a piece moved around on his chessboard any longer. If a pawn can change into a queen on the board, so will I. He took everything from me as a child. Used me. Abused me. And I’ll make sure he’ll feel every last lash of the whip that I’ll bring down on him.
I set the photo down carefully, forcing myself to take a steady breath. My eyes drift to the final envelope sitting untouched on the desk.
The lie.
My fingers hesitate for half a second before I grab it and tear it open.
Whatever’s inside spills on my lap.
Documents.
Official ones with my name at the top.
My birth certificate—except…
It’s wrong.
Every muscle in my body locks as my gaze scans the record once, twice, three times, just to be sure I’m not in some drugged-up hallucination.
The name listed under father isn’t his. It isn’t a surprise after the conversation I heard. After everything I’ve learned, it still feels as if everything inside of me just stops.
My entire life has been a lie. One large con. The long game to keep his enemies in check.
I fold the paper with deliberate care and slide it back into the envelope exactly as I found it, smoothing the crease with the pad of my thumb.
No evidence of a disturbance to be seen.
Nothing out of place.
Then I reach for the laptop.
If I’m getting out of this—
If I am really going to burn this entire fucking empire to the ground—
I need everything.
Every name.
Every transaction.
Every single goddamn file and secret he thought he could bury.
Clicking on the USB file, I begin the process of moving everything. I move slowly and selectively. Intentional. Small folders first. The ones that matter most.
Names.
Transfers.
Locations.
The progress inches forward.
My gaze flicks to the door every few seconds, listening to the thunder of my heartbeat for any sign of movement in the hall. Nothing. Just heavy silence.
I shift my weight, forcing my breathing to stay even, to quiet the panic clawing at my ribs.
Think.
Don’t rush.
Rushing gets you caught.
The progress bar hits sixty. Seventy. Eighty.
A faint sound echoes down the hall. Footsteps. Distant. But coming. My pulse spikes, but my hands don’t stop.
Ninety.
I eject the drive, tucking it into my pajama hem where the elastic grips it like a secret tooth. The laptop disappears beneath velvet. Ledgers align with military precision, the way he taught me.
The safe door whispers shut. One touch to the interface—reset flicker—done.
Click.
My sleeve erases any trace of my fingers across the brushed metal. The envelopes return to their places, angled exactly 15 degrees from the edge.
Footsteps outside. Heavy. Deliberate. The distinct squeak of Italian leather on marble.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but my hands remain steady. Years of piano lessons weren’t wasted after all.
The footsteps fade. My chest aches from holding my breath. I count heartbeats—thirty-seven before I dare move.
I cross the Persian rug on bare feet, avoiding the spot near the window that always creaks. At the door, I press my ear against the cool wood. The corridor clock ticks. Nothing else.
The hinges don’t make a sound—another thing I fixed months ago with graphite powder stolen from the gardener’s shed.
In the hallway, I become someone else, shoulders relaxed, face placid. The girl they expect. The girl they think they know.
Back in my room, I slide down against the door. The drive’s edge presses into my hip like a promise. On it, every transaction. Every name. Every secret that keeps the Crowe fortune gleaming while others starve.
Tomorrow, they’ll smile at me over breakfast, never suspecting I’ve already composed their downfall.