I barely slept.
My head throbbed with too many voices — my mother's journal entries, James's threats, Ethan's warnings, and Cameron's betrayal echoing like a song I couldn't turn off.
But one phrase kept circling back.
> "This world belongs to men like Johnathan."
It didn't. Not anymore.
---
By morning, we had mobilized every ally we could trust.
The Tribune scheduled the feature for the front page of Sunday's edition. James's offshore tech agents began freezing Windsor accounts. Two government whistleblowers had agreed to go public — under protection.
It was a revolution…
And revolutions are always loudest before they're silenced.
James walked into the bunker with bloodshot eyes and a tablet in hand.
"They shut down our servers in Morocco," he said. "Our backup vault in Zurich is safe — but we're losing data quicker than we can mirror it."
"Then we hit back harder," I said, standing. "Tonight."
He looked up. "You sure?"
"I don't want to play defense anymore."
He nodded. "Then we crash the party."
---
That evening, the Windsors held their annual gala — a smoke-and-mirrors charity event at the Royal Arcadia Hall. The kind of affair that smelled like money, power, and well-dressed lies.
It was also being broadcast live.
We watched it from a secure penthouse overlooking the hall.
James handed me a device. "This'll override the broadcast. One click. One upload. The entire world hears your mother's story — and sees the contract that killed her."
I stared down at the stage below.
Johnathan stood at the podium, smiling like a king untouched by rebellion.
"This is for her," I whispered.
Then I pressed the button.
The live feed glitched. Flickered.
And then…
My mother's voice filled the speakers.
> "If you're hearing this… it means I'm gone. It means the truth matters more than my life."
The crowd froze.
Panic rippled through the gold and velvet room.
James grinned. "That's the sound of a legacy crumbling."
---
But the victory was short.
A call came through — secure line. James answered, frowning.
"It's Miles," he said, handing me the phone.
Miles was one of the first men James ever trusted — his former bodyguard turned private investigator. He'd helped trace the Redwood Heights files.
I pressed the phone to my ear. "Miles?"
"Amelia," he said, breathless. "You need to sit down."
"What is it?"
"I found something. Something I wasn't supposed to see."
"What—?"
"A hospital file buried under one of Windsor's dead shell companies. Patient zero. A woman listed as deceased… but her records were updated three months ago."
I froze.
"Who?"
He paused.
Then said:
> "Sophia Moore."
---
I dropped the phone.
Everything inside me stopped moving.
"No," I whispered.
James caught me as my knees buckled.
"What did he say?"
I looked at him, dazed. "My mother… she's alive."
---