2025-12-27 23:30:09
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CHAPTER 213
The days bled into nights, every ticking second brought Jackson closer to a cell that would swallow him whole. Then, amid despair, Harry stopped pacing. His eyes sharpened. “There is someone,” he said slowly. Sarah looked up, hollow-eyed. “Who?” Harry swallowed hard. “Steven.” The room went dead silent immediately. Helen stared at him. “After everything we did?” “What choice do we have?” Harry replied bitterly, “He has the money… the influence.” “And every reason to refuse,” Sarah whispered. Harry exhaled. “Then we beg.” The word tasted like ash, but desperation stripped dignity without mercy. A message was sent, not a demand, not a justification or a plea. The response came the next morning, Steven Kahuna would see them. Not at his office, not at his home but at one of his resorts. He decided, short, precise and controlled, he had decided that he would listen but on his own terms. And for the first time in their lives, the Milton's prepared not as a po
CHAPTER 212
The city did not sleep one bit. Riverage City breathed outrage, fed on whispers that grew into roars. Screens replayed the audio again and again, each time sharpening the public’s hunger for a villain. The question was no longer if Jackson Milton was guilty—it was how many bodies lay behind his name. “If he could order the death of his own brother,” people asked, “then how many others did he silence?” Speculation turned vicious, every unsolved murder, every cold case, every whispered disappearance in Riverage City suddenly had a face—and it was Jackson’s. Romero’s name surfaced in the recording, but the public barely lingered on it. Romero was a known quantity, a man who ran a triad, a man whose hands were openly stained. To many, his guilt was already assumed, normalized, almost expected. “That’s his business,” commentators said. “That’s who he is.” Jackson, however, was different, he was supposed to be clean, educated and refined. A father, a husband, an heir at the
CHAPTER 211
Jackson Milton learned very quickly what silence sounded like. It wasn’t quiet, it screamed. He sat in the living room long after night had swallowed the city, the television off, the lights dimmed to a dull amber glow that did nothing to warm the space. The house… his house felt foreign now. Like a hotel he’d overstayed in. Like a place already preparing to forget him. His phone lay in his palm, there were no new notifications, no calls, no messages. Not from Helen, not from his father who wants nothing to do with him… and worse yet none from Dianna. He refreshed his inbox anyway, hoping but nothing! “Don’t do this,” he muttered, thumb hovering over Dianna’s name again. He told himself he wasn’t begging that he was explaining. That was the lie he clung to, he dialed. It rang once and then twice. Then it went completely dead. Straight to voicemail, Jackson’s chest tightened painfully. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal
CHAPTER 210
Steven was very much calm, he was just waiting patiently to see how it would all play out. Meanwhile, Sarah Milton woke to silence so thick it felt accusatory. The house had always breathed with her—staff moving quietly, the low hum of control. Now, it felt hollow and judgmental, like even the walls were waiting for her to explain herself. She sat upright on the couch, robe loosely wrapped around her frame, eyes fixed on the muted television. Jackson’s face filled the screen again. Her son. Her hands trembled as she pressed them together. “I raised you,” she whispered, the words cracking. “I raised you better than this.” Footsteps approached and Helen stopped a few feet away. She didn’t rush towards her like she usually does whenever she was down. Sarah noticed that first and it hurt more than the headlines. “You should be at the company,” Sarah said hoarsely, eyes still on the screen. “I was,” Helen replied. “I came back because you’ve been alone all day.” Sarah laughe
CHAPTER 209
Jackson Milton stared at the screen like it was lying to him. Well, news flash, it wasn’t. His name sat at the top of every headline, stamped in bold like a sentence already passed. His face flickered across screens, his voice replayed in fragments—slurred, defensive, desperate. The denial from the night before mocked him with merciless precision. I didn’t do it… I didn’t… The pauses between his words were now interpreted as guilt. “This can’t be real,” Jackson whispered. Behind him, the house felt hollow. No movement. No voices. Just silence pressing in on his skull. Helen stood a few feet away, tablet in hand, her posture unyielding. She didn’t rush to comfort him. She didn’t soften her expression. Helen Milton had learned long ago that sympathy was a luxury leaders rarely survived with. “The confirmations are coming in,” she said evenly. Jackson turned toward her. “What confirmations?” “Withdrawals.” His brow furrowed. “Clarify.” “Investors. Strategic partners. Se
CHAPTER 208
The television volume was still too loud, Sarah Milton didn’t bother lowering it. Jackson’s voice echoed through the living room again clean, undeniable, stripped of all the charm he had worn on air just hours earlier. “…If he survives, finish it.” Sarah turned slowly, very slowly. Jackson was still sitting where he had collapsed, phone dangling loosely from his fingers, face drained of all color. For the first time in his life, he looked small and Sarah Milton saw it. She laughed out loud, sharp and broken. There was nothing like amusement. “So this is what we raised,” she said. Jackson looked up. “Mother…” “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. The word mother seemed to strike something deep inside her. Her hands trembled, not with fear but with rage. “All these years,” Sarah continued, voice rising, “all these years I defended you, covered for you, cleaned up after you.” She stepped closer. “I stood in front of rooms full of men and women and said my son would
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