Chapter 7 - My Father Didn't Want Me to Save the Company—He Wanted Me to Destroy ItI couldn't sleep.
My father's final intention haunted me.
Destroy Vargas Holdings.
The company had been the center of my childhood.
Christmas parties.
Charity events.
My father's office.
The newspapers.
Everything.
And now his final instruction was to burn it all down.
Matthew found me at three in the morning.
“You're awake.”
“So are you.”
“I don't sleep much.”
“Neither do I.”
He sat beside me.
“Why didn't you tell me earlier?”
“I wanted to confirm it.”
“Confirm what?”
“That your father was right.”
“My father?”
“Vargas Holdings was never the real prize.”
“Then what was?”
“Project Avalon.”
“What is Project Avalon?”
“A legal network designed to expose every company connected to the corruption.”
I looked at him.
“My father built a trap.”
“Yes.”
“For Isabel?”
“For everyone.”
I understood.
If I activated the trust, it wouldn't simply transfer shares.
It would trigger an automatic release of financial records.
Every hidden account.
Every offshore company.
Every bribed official.
Every illegal transfer.
All of it.
The trust was a bomb.
A legal bomb.
And I held the detonator.
“Why didn't my father activate it himself?”
“Because he was killed.”
“And my mother?”
“She was supposed to activate it.”
“Then why didn't she?”
“She was captured.”
The next morning, we located her.
A farmhouse outside the city.
Matthew and I drove there.
Gabriel met us.
He looked tired.
“She's inside.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
“Then why help?”
He stared at his brother.
“Because I owe him.”
Matthew stepped forward.
“You left us.”
“I had no choice.”
“You could have told me.”
“If I had, you'd be dead.”
Silence.
Gabriel continued:
“Isabel believed I stole from the company.”
“She wanted me dead.”
“So I disappeared.”
“And worked with her?”
“I infiltrated her network.”
Matthew looked skeptical.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Gabriel handed him a file.
“Read it.”
Matthew opened it.
Inside were years of bank records.
Isabel.
Ambrose.
Vargas Holdings.
Politicians.
And one repeated payment.
To a private account belonging to—
Dr. Evelyn Mercer.
I knew the name.
My childhood therapist.
“She treated me after my mother's disappearance.”
Gabriel nodded.
“She was working for Isabel.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did she do?”
“She helped convince you your mother was dead.”
I felt sick.
Everything had been manipulated.
My memories.
My grief.
My childhood.
My identity.
We entered the farmhouse.
My mother was there.
She stood when she saw me.
“Ella.”
I couldn't move.
Then I ran to her.
Her arms closed around me.
She cried.
So did I.
For several minutes, nothing else existed.
Then I stepped back.
“Why did you leave?”
She looked at Matthew.
Then Gabriel.
Then me.
“Because your father asked me to.”
“Why?”
“To save you.”
“He said you were part of the trust.”
“I was.”
“Then why disappear?”
“Because Isabel discovered Project Avalon.”
My mother sat.
“I was supposed to activate it.”
“What happened?”
“Richard Ambrose came for me.”
“He wanted the trust.”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you survive?”
“Gabriel helped me.”
I looked at him.
He nodded.
“Why didn't you tell Matthew?”
“Because I was trying to keep him alive.”
My mother held my hands.
“Your father knew Isabel was dangerous.”
“But he never knew how dangerous.”
“What changed?”
“The board.”
She swallowed.
“Three directors had already been bought.”
“By Ambrose?”
“Yes.”
“And your husband?”
“My husband was trying to stop them.”
“But they killed him.”
“Yes.”
I cried.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because you were next.”
She looked at me.
“You were the heir.”
I took a breath.
“What happens when I turn twenty-five?”
“Project Avalon activates.”
I stared.
“If I do nothing?”
“Isabel keeps the company.”
“If I activate it?”
“She loses everything.”
“And I?”
“You become the legal owner.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My father wanted me to become a billionaire?”
“No.”
My mother looked at me.
“He wanted you to choose whether power was worth having.”
I went quiet.
Then Matthew stepped closer.
“You don't have to decide alone.”
My mother looked between us.
A knowing smile appeared.
I ignored it.
We returned to Chicago.
That evening, Isabel called.
“You have your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And the trust?”
“I know about it.”
Silence.
Then:
“You always were your father's daughter.”
I clenched my jaw.
“You're finished.”
“No.”
She laughed.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
“You think I want your company.”
“What else could you want?”
“You.”
I froze.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you are the last person who knows what your father really did.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Matthew.”
The call ended.
I looked at him.
“What does she mean?”
Matthew's face had gone pale.
“My father had a second secret.”
May you like
“What?”
“He may have been the one who ordered your father's death.”
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