Chapter 4
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Jason's research landed in her encrypted inbox at dawn. Armed with black coffee, Emily pored over the files as morning light crept through her windows. Shaw's business history was a graveyard of suspicious coincidences—competitors who mysteriously went bankrupt after crossing him. Her father's name appeared on the victim list, dated exactly two weeks before his fatal jump.
The doorbell startled her. Emily closed her laptop and checked the peephole—Jason stood outside holding a paper bag that smelled of breakfast.
"You didn't sleep," he frowned, reaching to touch the dark circles under her eyes.
Emily stepped back from his touch. "Had some research to finish."
The soy milk he'd brought was still warm. She sipped it while Jason shared his overnight discoveries, his gaze never leaving her face. The intensity of his attention made her shift uncomfortably.
"Lucas is flying to Westbrook this morning. The official story is business negotiations, but he's actually meeting Shaw's lawyer." Jason slid an itinerary across the table. "They're being careful—meeting at a private club where my contacts can't follow."
Emily studied the address. "This club is Shaw's home turf."
"And," Jason hesitated, "this is the same lawyer your father met with the day before he died."
The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Emily's grip tightened, crushing the cup slightly. Seven years ago, her father had rushed out after a phone call on a rainy night. He never came home. Among his personal effects, she'd found a business card—belonging to this same lawyer.
"I need to meet this lawyer," she said firmly.
"Too risky." Jason covered her hand with his. "Let me handle it."
His palm was warm against hers, but Emily pulled away as if scalded. The atmosphere chilled instantly. Hurt flashed across Jason's face.
"It's not personal," Emily said quietly. "I just can't afford to trust anyone right now."
Even you, she didn't add.
Jason nodded, masking whatever he felt. "I understand. I'll keep working the edges of this."
After he left, Emily stood motionless in her living room. She wasn't blind to what she'd seen in Jason's eyes—feelings that went well beyond friendship. But her life was like cracked porcelain now—one more emotional complication might shatter her completely.
That afternoon, she arrived at her office precisely on schedule. Her staff were buzzing about the latest trending topic—a celebrity sex scandal that had conveniently pushed the business exposé off the front pages. Classic Lucas—using tabloid fodder to bury real news was predictable but effective.
Her assistant delivered an invitation to that evening's charity gala. The host: a foundation controlled by Shaw. Lucas, as a board member, would certainly be there.
"RSVP yes," Emily instructed.
She needed to see Shaw up close—the man who might have orchestrated her father's death.
The gala was held at Shaw's sprawling estate. Emily arrived alone in a black gown whose simplicity highlighted her natural grace. Immediately, she spotted Lucas standing beside Shaw, the two laughing together like old friends despite their thirty-year age gap.
Shaw was more imposing in person than in photos. Sixty-something, wearing an impeccably tailored gray suit, he had a habit of narrowing his eyes when looking at people—as if calculating their worth. He noticed Emily, raising his glass in acknowledgment with a smile that appeared warm but somehow chilled her blood.
Lucas approached, his arm snaking around her waist. "Didn't think you'd show."
"And miss all this?" Emily smiled, allowing him to guide her toward Shaw. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Simon, meet my wife, Emily Anderson."
Shaw took her hand, his grip perfectly calibrated. "Lucas speaks highly of you. I see his praise wasn't exaggerated." His thumb brushed against her wedding ring—a subtle, almost imperceptible challenge.
Emily maintained her poise. "You're too kind, Mr. Shaw. I've long admired your work with educational charities."
This was actually true. Shaw had funded numerous schools in underprivileged areas—a fact widely covered in the press. Good and evil coexisted in him, making him all the more dangerous.
During their conversation, Emily noticed Shaw's watch—a limited-edition Patek Philippe identical to her father's prized possession. Not coincidence. A message.
"I hear you're working on something about corporate corruption?" Shaw asked casually.
Here we go. Emily sipped her champagne. "Your information is correct. Though in surgical journalism, precision is everything. Cut in the wrong direction, and you might sever an artery instead of removing the cancer."
The threat was barely veiled. Beside her, Lucas's knuckles whitened around his glass.
Across the room, Jason appeared, deep in conversation with a media tycoon. Emily tensed—he hadn't mentioned he'd be here tonight.
Shaw tracked her gaze. "Ah, Johnson's here. He's been quite interested in business matters lately."
Emily kept her voice neutral. "Journalists are always hunting stories."
"Perhaps," Shaw studied her with unsettling intensity. "Just a friendly warning, Ms. Anderson—be careful who you trust. Journalists have a habit of helping you one day and selling you out the next when a better headline comes along."
Halfway through the evening, Emily retreated to a powder room to collect herself. Her reflection showed a face drained of color. Every word from Shaw had felt like a knife wrapped in silk.
The door opened. Lucas stepped in and locked it behind him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yanked at his tie, fury finally breaking through his facade.
Emily turned to face him. "That's my question. What did you and Shaw do to my father?"
Lucas froze. "Who's been feeding you that garbage?"
"So there is something." Emily's last hope crumbled. She'd been clinging to the possibility she was wrong.
Lucas advanced on her. "Emily, listen to me. Some things are better left buried. Stop digging. We're still married—I can still protect you. But if you keep this up…"
"Or what?" Emily met his gaze unflinchingly. "You'll do to me what you did to my father?"
Her words snapped his control. He seized her wrist. "You have no idea who you're messing with! Shaw's methods—"
The doorknob rattled. Jason's voice came through: "Emily? You in there?"
Lucas released her instantly, his mask of civility sliding back into place. "Remember what I said," he murmured, then opened the door, nodded politely to Jason, and walked out as if nothing had happened.
Jason's eyes fixed on the red marks forming on her wrist. "Did he hurt you?"
"It's nothing." Emily tugged her sleeve down. "Why are you here?"
"Couldn't let you face Shaw alone." Jason handed her a tiny earpiece. "I recorded your conversation with Lucas. He didn't admit anything specific, but it's clear he's involved."
Emily accepted the device, conflicted. The protection felt reassuring, but dangerous to depend on.
As she headed for her car, Shaw's assistant intercepted her. "Mr. Shaw requests a private word."
Jason moved to accompany her, but Emily stopped him with a look. Some confrontations couldn't be avoided.
Shaw waited in his book-lined study. With no witnesses present, he dispensed with pleasantries: "Miss Anderson, let's be direct. Your father's death was an accident. I had nothing to do with it."
"Then why threaten me?" Emily countered.
Shaw rotated his watch—her father's watch—on his wrist. "I'm merely concerned you're being manipulated." His gaze drifted meaningfully toward the window, where Jason's car waited in the distance.
"Meaning?"
"Your journalist friend." Shaw opened a drawer and extracted a folder of photographs. "His interest in you goes beyond old friendship or new attraction."
The photos showed Jason meeting with the director of a foreign foundation known for funding investigations into corporate corruption.
"He is investigating your father's case, yes. But not to help you." Shaw's voice remained measured. "His brother worked for your father seven years ago. He was imprisoned for embezzlement. After his release, he killed himself."
Emily's blood ran cold. This was completely new information.
"Jason has always believed your father framed his brother," Shaw concluded, placing the final photo on the desk. "Do you really think he's helping the daughter of the man he blames for his brother's death?"
During the drive home, Emily maintained complete silence. Jason attempted conversation several times, but she deflected each attempt.
The truth had become a tangled web. Everyone was lying. Everyone had hidden motives. Her father, Lucas, Shaw, Jason… Who could she trust?
At home, she locked her door and retrieved the box of her father's belongings—untouched for seven years. She'd never had the courage to thoroughly examine them before. Now, she had no choice.
At the bottom of a weathered folder, she found a photograph: her father and Simon Shaw, arms around each other's shoulders, grinning broadly in front of a construction site. The date stamp showed exactly one month before her father's death. On the back, a handwritten note: "Simon, me, new beginnings."
Her father had never mentioned knowing Shaw. So Shaw had lied—they weren't just acquaintances but apparently close friends. In an old cryptography book, she discovered a strange bookmark: an acupuncture meridian chart with peculiar symbols penciled on the back, suggesting some kind of body-memory encryption system. Though she couldn't decipher it immediately, instinct told her it was significant. She scanned it for safekeeping.
Near midnight, a text from Jason: "Whatever you hear, please believe I'm on your side."
Emily didn't respond. She stood at her window, watching the city's relentless glow.
In this world of lies, she could trust only two things: the hard evidence in her possession and the unwavering fire of determination burning in her heart.
