Three months ago...
The loud bang shattered the silence of the night, sharp and sudden. Richard staggered backwards, clutching his chest as blood spread across his white shirt. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he looked at the shadowy figure gripping the smoking gun.
"Why?" Richard's voice was shaky and weak as he took his last breath.
He dropped to his knees as the figure stepped closer and said coldly, "You shouldn't have trusted me."
The assassin's boots crunched on the gravel as they walked away, leaving Richard sprawled on the ground, his blood soaking into the earth. As his vision faded, one thought consumed him—his daughter, Sophie. He had let her down
SOPHIE
I jolted awake, my heart racing and my breaths shallow. The image of my father lying helpless on the ground stayed with me, a shadow I couldn't push away.
"It wasn't real," I said to myself, trying to calm down. Just another dream.
However, the reality was not that far away. Three months had passed since the passing of my father, and there were still more questions than answers. Officially, it was ruled a heart attack, but the timing was too convenient. His company, everything he had worked his entire life for, had been snatched away in the weeks leading up to his death.
I swung my legs out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. The morning light slipped through the curtains, lighting up the boxes stacked in the corner. My father's study, once so full of life, now felt like a quiet memorial, filled with papers and memories I hadn't been able to face until now.
Today was the day I would start sorting through his belongings. The world hadn't stopped for my grief, and I couldn't afford to either.
The air in my father's study was heavy, as though it still held his presence. His oak desk, polished and orderly, sat untouched since the last day he worked there. Papers and folders were stacked neatly on one side, and his old fountain pen lay abandoned next to an unfinished ledger.
I sank into his leather chair and pulled the nearest box toward me. Its contents were a jumble of business contracts, invoices, and handwritten notes. Although my father had always been thorough, the mess of these documents indicated that he was under a lot of stress before his passing.
Hours passed as I sifted through the documents, growing more frustrated. Nothing made sense. There were mentions of boardroom disputes, cancelled contracts, and an investor named Blackwell, but nothing concrete.
Finally, at the bottom of the box, something unusual caught my eye—"What's this?" A letter addressed to my father and signed by Adrian Blackwell.
My hands trembled as I carefully unfolded it, and the harsh, unapologetic words stared back at me:
"Dear Richard,
It's not personal, just business. According to the board's decision, your position is no longer viable. I'm the one who can provide the company with the solid leadership it needs to thrive. I advise you to use this as a chance to politely step down.
- Adrian Blackwell."
My stomach turned with anger. My father's last days had been troubled by the name Blackwell, and now I had evidence of his betrayal. In addition to being a businessman, Adrian Blackwell was a predator who had ruined my father's life to feed his own greed.
"It's not personal?" I whispered to myself. "You stole everything from him!"
I gripped the letter tightly, feeling a surge of rage. Adrian Blackwell had torn up my father's empire in exchange for his trust in this man.
I couldn't sit idly by. I had to do something.
As the day went on, the sunlight coming through the window shifted. I gazed at the screen of my laptop as I read news stories on Adrian Blackwell. He was a billionaire CEO with impenetrable charisma and ruthless business expertise, so his name held weight in Manhattan.
He appeared to be a powerful and influential man in photos taken at charity functions and galas, but I could see right through the façade. Beneath the well-tailored clothes and captivating looks was a man who was capable of wrecking families.
An article caught my attention immediately. In two weeks, Adrian Blackwell would be celebrating the anniversary of his most recent acquisition, a business that had previously belonged to my father, with an exclusive banquet.
The thought of it made my blood boil, but it also gave me an idea.
I needed to confront Adrian Blackwell head-on if I wanted justice and answers. However, it was not an option to approach him as Richard Lane's grieving daughter. Tears and cries for justice wouldn't dissuade a man like him. I had to be smart and cautious.
I had to become someone else entirely.
I sat at my desk as the moon cast its cold shadow upon its surface. I had identified one objective: to create a new identity. 'Anna Carter' was born from hours of careful planning—a modest, gentle young woman with no connection to Richard Lane or his collapsed empire.
It wasn't just about revenge anymore. It was about reclaiming my father's legacy and making Adrian Blackwell pay for what he had done.
I looked at the letter one last time before slipping it into a file. The words still burned in my mind, but they also fueled my determination.
I opened my laptop again and typed out an application for a housemaid position I had come across earlier at Adrian Blackwell's mansion. If I was going to expose him, I needed to be close enough to learn his secrets.
I let out a big breath and clicked "submit," my heart thumping in my chest. The tone of the notification startled me as it popped up on my screen:
"Dear Anna,
Application Received. You have been scheduled for an interview tomorrow at the Blackwell Mansion…" The wheels were already in motion, and there was no turning back now.