Meanwhile, i sat on the couch in the living room, staring at the headlines on my phone. Vanessa had struck again, this time releasing photographs of my father at a series of questionable gatherings—parties filled with influential figures, some of whom had since fallen from grace. The insinuations in the media were clear: my father hadn't been a victim but a willing participant in the corruption that had ruined so many lives.
I sighed heavily, setting my phone aside. The weight of everything—the baby, my father's tarnished image, the benefactor's threats—was beginning to feel unbearable. I glanced toward Michael's office, debating whether to interrupt him. Just as my stood, the door to the study creaked open, and Michael emerged, a grim look on his face.
"I found something," he said, holding up a folder. His voice was steady, but i could see the unease in his eyes.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart racing.
