Van hadn’t slept in three days.He had showered. He had eaten. He had gone through his usual daily routine. But the moment his head hit the pillow, the ledger returned. Names. Dates. Payments. Losses. People with stories that were erased in silence while the Everest empire grew.The blue book sat locked in the drawer beside him.But its weight never left his chest.The team at PR was still split —half advising caution, the other half begging delay.Even Macy had urged him to wait.“Let the family adjust. Let the board prepare. Don’t light the fire until the exits are built.”But Van had already chosen the fire.★★★Brandt met him on the rooftop of the Everest Tower at sunrise. The sky was lavender and silver, the city still half asleep.“You’re sure?” Brandt asked.Van nodded. “Yes.”Brandt didn’t question him again. Instead, he handed him the final draft.The Statement.Van opened the folder and read the words one last time. Every syllable carefully chosen. Every name double verified

The morning after the storm broke, Ivy stood at the kitchen island with a cup of tea she hadn’t touched.The Everest mansion was unusually quiet.No housekeepers. No nannies. Even Fred had excused himself after breakfast with a polite nod and a knowing glance that said: I’ll be nearby, if needed.Van hadn’t come down yet.The world was still spiraling, and Ivy was starting to understand just how lonely the center of a storm could be.She sipped the now cold tea and tried to steady her hands.It wasn’t just the media frenzy. Or the board meetings. Or the fact that a thousand reporters were now asking her— her— if she had known. If she had helped hide it. If she had married into a dynasty of secrets willingly.It was that this was her life now.And it might never be private again.Van appeared at the edge of the room quietly, like he was trying not to disturb anything. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His tie was missing. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion.But he still lo

Andrew Everest was already awake when the broadcast went live.He had been watching the feed of her private room from a signal that shouldn’t have existed. The same hidden surveillance network his father had once used to keep track of "sensitive assets" —and which Andrew had quietly kept running, long after he was buried.As the feed began to stream Isadora’s video in real time, Andrew sat alone in the penthouse study of his own tower, fingers pressed together, eyes narrow.He didn’t blink.He didn’t interrupt.He just watched.And when it ended, he whispered aloud:“Very good.”Then he reached for his phone.He made three calls.The first was to a longtime board member, Judith Vale. Former attorney, close to his father in the early days, and currently the swing vote in any major decision.“It’s time,” Andrew said. “We push the vote forward. Tomorrow.”“She’s impressive,” Judith said, her tone cautious. “And the market likes Van’s transparency.”“They like novelty. She is novelty,” An

The flash drive was small, metallic, unmarked.It sat on Van’s desk like a tiny, dangerous weapon.The weight of it wasn’t physical— it was psychological. Isadora had handed it to him with calm eyes but a loaded warning:“If I disappear, give this to the press.”Now Van held it between his fingers, debating whether to look. The temptation was obvious. The fear? Much worse.But he didn’t hesitate long.He plugged it in.The drive opened with a single folder: VANE.Van clicked it.Inside were six files.1. Transcript_2003.docx2. Vane_Notes.pdf3. Everest_DisbursementRecords.xlsx4. Audio_Excerpt.mp35. Surveillance_Video.mov6. Letter_to_Isadora.txtHis breath caught.He opened the transcript first.---Transcript_2003.docxMeeting between Simon Vane and Marcus EverestPartial Recording - October 5, 2003Unofficial, transcribed by S.V.> SIMON: You’ve crossed the line, Marcus. This isn’t just payout money. This is blackmail.Marcus: You think I care what you call it? You broke your con

The private boardroom wasn’t part of the Everest Tower. It sat several blocks away, in a discreet, black glass building known only to senior executives and legacy insiders. Marcus Everest had used it for many years to hold “off-the-record” sessions— meetings without legal minutes, meetings where decisions were made before being formalized on paper. Van had always hated this room. It smelled like politics and polished wood. The kind of place where smiles were weapons and silence could cost you your future. Now it would be where everything came undone. The dossier sat in a locked briefcase on the seat beside Van in the black sedan. Ivy sat across from him, dressed in a navy pantsuit, her hair pinned back. She looked like a woman heading into a courtroom —not a boardroom. Isadora sat to his right, dressed entirely in black. No jewelry. No branding. Just a single file folder in her lap and a calm, terrifying stillness in her eyes. They didn’t speak much on the drive. Everything had