Chapter 6
1531words
At five in the morning, she sent Jason an encrypted message: "Your father Howard Jackson, did you know all along he was connected to the Anderson case?"
Half an hour later, Jason Johnson made a direct video call. In the frame, he had dark circles under his eyes, with the interior of a car as his background.
"My father only confessed on his deathbed." His voice was hoarse. "He was coerced into signing fake documents and spent the rest of his life in regret. Emily, if I intended to hide the truth, why would I help you investigate this far?"
Emily Anderson stared at his bloodshot eyes. Trust was a luxury, but she had no way to retreat.
"Meet me at the usual place in an hour." She hung up, backing up the critical evidence to three different locations.
The teahouse had just opened at seven, and Emily chose a seat by the window. Jason arrived on time, bringing breakfast and a USB drive.
"Lucas is transferring assets," he got straight to the point. "Yesterday he moved 80 million through an offshore company to Simon's foundation."
Emily stirred her soy milk, "It's time for 'Justice Mirror' to release the second wave."
She personally wrote this exposé, focusing on the tax issues of Lucas Lawrence's company. Every suspicious money flow was accompanied by screenshots of bank statements, with several hidden associated accounts highlighted in red. The article was published during Monday's morning rush hour, reaching the top of the trending search list within ten minutes.
Lucas's response came faster than expected, and was more vicious.
At noon, two economic crime investigation officers walked into Emily Anderson's office, showing an arrest warrant: "Ms. Anderson, you're suspected of business fraud. Please cooperate with our investigation."
The company instantly erupted in chaos. Emily calmly handed over her phone and was taken away under everyone's watchful eyes. When passing by her assistant's desk, she whispered: "Contact Reporter Jin."
The incandescent light in the interrogation room hurt one's eyes. The evidence presented by the investigating officer was alarming—Emily's company's overseas accounts had received three unidentified payments totaling five million, and the sender was exactly the enterprise that Lucas accused of being defrauded.
"These accounts are not under my name," Emily said.
"But the IP operation was from your company address." The officer pushed over the technical report, "And there are employees who testified that you operated it personally."
Emily Anderson immediately realized there was a mole in her company.
Before her lawyer arrived, she remained silent. In her mind, she quickly went through the list of potential betrayers—the financial director? The technical supervisor? Or that intern who always stayed the latest?
Jason Johnson was busy outside. He first applied pressure through the media by publishing a report titled "Famous Female Entrepreneur Being Framed?" and then found Mark Porter to testify that those three payments were planted by Lucas Lawrence.
The most crucial evidence came from an unexpected person—Lucas Lawrence's secretary Victoria Lambert. She contacted Jason proactively and provided a recording. In the recording, Lucas was instructing his subordinates to forge operation records from Emily's company.
"Why are you helping me?" Emily asked Victoria after being released on bail. They met at a café near the prosecutor's office, with Victoria hiding behind sunglasses, nervously stirring her latte.
"He promised to divorce you and marry me, all lies." Victoria smiled bitterly, "Also... I'm pregnant and need to accumulate good karma for my child."
She handed over a key, "It's for Lucas Lawrence's private safe deposit box at the bank vault. Perhaps it contains what you're looking for."
Emily Anderson gripped the key tightly, the cold metal pressing into her palm.
Life after bail wasn't easy. Company operations had halted, most employees had resigned, and allies were beginning to waver. Worse still, Emily discovered someone was following her.
On Wednesday night, she planned a counter-surveillance operation and cornered the thin man in the parking lot.
"Mr. Shaw asked me to protect you," the man showed his ID card from Simon's company.
Emily sneered, "Tell Simon Shaw I don't need this kind of protection."
But the real crisis came on Friday. Emily was heading to meet Mark Porter to discuss their next steps. As soon as her car left the residential complex, a black SUV began tailing her.
She accelerated and changed lanes, but the pursuer stuck close behind. At an intersection, the SUV suddenly charged forward and violently rammed into her door.
At the moment the airbag deployed, Emily Anderson instinctively protected her head. The car spun and crashed into the guardrail, the sound of shattering glass deafening.
Before losing consciousness, she saw a man in a baseball cap get out of the SUV and walk toward her.
As police sirens approached from the distance, the man quickly retreated. When Emily was rescued, she was still clutching the safe deposit box key tightly in her hand.
The hospital examination results showed a concussion and three fractured ribs. Jason Johnson stood guard by her hospital bed, his face ashen.
"The car accident was deliberate," he pulled up surveillance footage screenshots. "The SUV had fake plates, the driver was professional, and the crash angle was cunningly precise."
Emily endured excruciating pain as she thought. This didn't seem like Lucas Lawrence's style; he preferred psychological torture. Simon Shaw? If he wanted to silence her, he wouldn't use such a crude method.
"Investigate Victoria Lambert," she suddenly said. "It was too fast, her defection was too quick."
Jason's pupils contracted slightly, "You suspect it's a trap?"
"We'll find out if we try." Emily Anderson wrote down the bank address and safe deposit box number, "You go open the box, I'll be the bait."
The next day, Jason Johnson went to the bank with Emily's authorization letter. Meanwhile, Emily checked out of the hospital and returned to the company with high profile.
She waited in her office until three in the afternoon. Jason called: "The safe deposit box is empty, except for this." —A photo of Emily's father when he was young, with "Brothers of one heart" written on the back.
At the same time, a fire alarm suddenly went off in Emily's company. While employees were hurriedly evacuating, a figure slipped into her office and inserted a USB drive into the computer.
Emily watched all this from the monitoring room. The mole finally showed up—it was the quiet, reserved technical director, one of her most trusted long-term employees.
Security personnel apprehended him on the spot. During interrogation, the technical director confessed that he was acting on Lucas Lawrence's instructions, not only framing her with the account operations, but also planning to plant a virus today to destroy all data.
"Why did you betray me?" Emily asked.
The technical director lowered his head, "My daughter is seriously ill in America... Lucas Lawrence promised to cover all the medical expenses."
Emily Anderson looked at his graying hair and finally chose not to press charges. "Go, take your family and leave this city."
The immediate crisis was averted, but a greater shadow loomed. Jason Johnson's investigation revealed that the SUV belonged to a foreign mercenary group that specialized in dirty work.
"Simon Shaw is cleaning up his image, he wouldn't use people like that," Jason said with a grave expression. "There's a third party involved now."
That evening, Emily received an anonymous package. Inside was her father's fountain pen and a note:
"Stop now, or next time it won't just be a car accident."
The pen was a birthday gift she had given her father when she was sixteen, with a slight scratch on the cap—it was the genuine article.
Emily held the pen close to her heart. Seven years ago, this pen had disappeared along with her father. Its reappearance meant someone had been keeping it all this time.
The fog was getting thicker, but she had no way to retreat now.
Late at night, she stood by the office window, watching the city lights blur into a halo through the rain. The glass reflected the bandage wrapped around her forehead, like a medal of victory, yet also like the brand of a martyr.
Jason Johnson pushed open the door and entered, handing her a cup of hot milk. "We need more powerful allies."
Emily Anderson took the cup, feeling the warmth transfer through the porcelain to her palm. "It's time to meet that person."
"Who?"
"Simon Shaw's wife, Claire Lee." Emily looked out the window, "She's been held captive by Simon in a suburban villa for ten years. She knows his secrets better than anyone."
The rain fell harder, washing away the filth and secrets of this city. Emily knew that in this game of chess, she had just crossed the first line between life and death.
And ahead, more dangers awaited her.
