Chapter 8
Victoria and Olivia were arrested at 2 a.m.
The police raided the mansion, finding them in the master bedroom, packing suitcases full of cash and jewelry, getting ready to run for the private airport. They didn’t even put up a fight. They knew it was over.
The news broke by sunrise. The whole world watched as the two women were led out of the mansion in handcuffs, their faces covered, cameras flashing. The fake embezzlement records were debunked within hours, proven to be forgeries by forensic experts. The dashcam footage was released to the public, and the tide turned overnight.
The same people who’d called me a liar and a thief a week earlier were now calling me a hero. My social media was flooded with apologies, with support, with people saying they’d known all along Victoria and Olivia were evil. I didn’t care about any of it. I just cared that it was over.
The arraignment was three days later. Victoria and Olivia were denied bail, charged with first-degree murder, multiple counts of fraud, conspiracy, blackmail, and assault. The judge ordered them held without bond until the trial, saying they were a flight risk and a danger to the community.
I sat in the front row of the courtroom, holding my father’s hand, as the judge read the charges. Olivia stared at me the whole time, her face cold, full of hate. Victoria cried, screaming that it was all a lie, that we’d framed her, that my father was a monster. No one believed her.
When it was over, we walked out of the courthouse together, the sun shining down on us. Reporters shouted questions, but we didn’t stop. We just kept walking, to the car waiting for us at the curb.
The next few weeks were a blur.
The civil trial to decide ownership of Whitmore Industries was fast-tracked, and it took less than a week. The judge ruled in our favor, citing the original will, the proof of forgery, the fact that Olivia was an imposter with no legal right to anything. All shares of Whitmore Industries were signed over to me. All of Victoria and Olivia’s assets were frozen, seized, and returned to the company.
I was the CEO of Whitmore Industries.
The first thing I did was fire every executive who’d helped Victoria and Olivia. I promoted the people who’d been loyal to my mother, who’d stayed quiet because they were scared, but who’d never stopped believing in her vision. I raised the minimum wage for all factory workers to $25 an hour. I expanded the charity foundation my mother had started, doubling the budget to help single parents and kids with cancer, just like she’d always wanted.
My father came to work with me every day. He didn’t want a title. He didn’t want a corner office. He just wanted to help. He sat in a small office down the hall from mine, going over old records, fixing the mistakes Victoria and Olivia had made, talking to long-time employees, apologizing for letting the company fall into the wrong hands. The employees loved him. They’d missed him. They were glad to have him back.
But it wasn’t easy.
I was still angry. I still couldn’t forget the things he’d said at the gala. The daughter I always wished for. You’ve never belonged here. I knew he’d been drugged. I knew he’d been blackmailed. I knew he’d thought he was protecting me. But the words still hurt. The memory of him standing on that stage, looking at me with disgust, still made my chest tight.
He knew it. He never pushed me to forgive him. He just showed up, every day, working hard, being kind, trying to make up for it. He went to therapy twice a week, to deal with the guilt, the trauma of what Victoria and Olivia had done to him, to us. He never missed a dinner with me. He never missed a chance to tell me he was proud of me.
Slowly, slowly, the anger started to fade.
The criminal trial was two months later. It lasted two weeks. The prosecution presented all the evidence: the dashcam footage, the voice recording, the forged documents, the medical records, my father’s testimony, Marcus’s testimony, Mr. Hale’s testimony. The defense tried to argue the video was fake, that my father was lying, that I’d manipulated everyone. But the jury didn’t buy it.
They came back after six hours of deliberation.
Guilty. On all counts.
Victoria and Olivia were sentenced to 25 years to life in maximum security prison, with no possibility of parole. They’d be in their 70s before they ever got out, if they ever got out.
As the judge read the sentence, Olivia stared at me, her face twisted with rage. Victoria collapsed into sobs, screaming that it wasn’t fair. I didn’t feel happy. I didn’t feel triumphant. I just felt… calm. Peaceful.
Justice had been served.
My mother could rest now.
We walked out of the courthouse for the last time, and my father put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, letting him hold me, the sun warm on my face.
“It’s over,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Really over.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
We got in the car, and he told the driver to take us to the cottage.
May you like
I knew what he wanted to do.
It was time to go home.
