Chapter 43
I lunged for Daniel as hands dragged him backward through the open door, his fingers slipping from mine like water. The gun barrel pressed cold against my temple before I made it halfway across the seat.
"Don't." Whitmore's voice was flat. Professional. The kind of tone that said he'd done this before.
Through the open door, I watched two men in dark suits pin Daniel face-down on the asphalt. One of them had a knee between his shoulder blades. Daniel's cheek scraped against the ground as he twisted, trying to see me.
"Nora—"
The man with the knee drove it harder into Daniel's back. The rest of Daniel's words came out as a wheeze.
Richard leaned forward from the front seat, his earlier composure sliding back into place like a mask. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit very still while we figure out how to manage this situation. Whitmore, keep her comfortable."
The gun didn't move from my temple.
"You can't make this go away." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "It's already online. Killing us won't change that."
"Killing you?" Richard's laugh was genuine. "Kiddo, you've been watching too many movies. We're not going to kill anyone. We're simply going to have a conversation about the best way forward for everyone involved."
Outside, Daniel had stopped struggling. His eyes found mine through the open door. Something passed between us—not a plan, exactly. More like an understanding. We'd both grown up learning to read the room, to know when someone was lying. Richard was lying.
"Let him go." I kept my gaze locked on Daniel. "Whatever you're planning, you don't need him for it."
"Actually, I do. Daniel's cooperation is essential to the narrative we're about to construct." Richard pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. "The story is already spinning out of control. Three news outlets have become seven. Social media is having a field day. But we can still shape this. Daniel comes forward, expresses his deep remorse, explains that he's been living with the guilt for six years. He cooperates fully with any investigation. He becomes the face of accountability and redemption."
"And me?"
"You disappear. Not permanently," Richard added, like that made it better. "Just until the news cycle moves on. A few months, maybe a year. We'll set you up somewhere nice. California, perhaps. You've always wanted to open your own restaurant, haven't you? We can make that happen."
The jade bracelet felt heavy on my wrist. My grandmother had worn it through the Cultural Revolution, through immigration, through building a life from nothing. She'd given it to me the day before she died, her fingers trembling as she clasped it around my wrist. "Don't let anyone make you small," she'd said in Mandarin. "Not even for love."
"No."
Richard's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry?"
"I said no. I'm not disappearing. I'm not taking your money. And Daniel's not reading whatever script you're planning to write for him."
"Nora." Daniel's voice carried across the parking lot. "Just listen to him."
I looked at him. Really looked. His face was still pressed against the asphalt, but his eyes were clear. Focused. He wasn't telling me to give in. He was telling me to play along. To buy time.
Okay so. I could do that.
"What exactly would this arrangement look like?" I asked Richard.
He smiled. "Now we're being reasonable. Whitmore, lower the gun. Let's not be dramatic."
The pressure against my temple disappeared. I didn't move.
"First, you sign an NDA. Comprehensive, ironclad. You never speak about Daniel, about Sarah Morrison, about any of this. In exchange, we provide you with two million dollars in seed funding for your restaurant. Prime location, your choice of city. We'll even help with permits, licensing, all the tedious bureaucratic nonsense."
"And Daniel?"
"Daniel faces the music, as they say. But with our legal team behind him, the best PR consultants money can buy, and a carefully managed media strategy. He'll do some community service, probably pay a fine. The statute of limitations on vehicular manslaughter in this state is six years, which expired three months ago. The worst he's facing is public opinion, and we can manage that."
It was a good offer. Too good. The kind of offer that came with invisible strings that would strangle you slowly.
"Let me talk to him first."
Richard's smile tightened. "I don't think that's wise."
"Then we don't have a deal."
For a long moment, Richard studied me. I could see him calculating, weighing options. Finally, he nodded. "Five minutes. Whitmore stays with you. And Nora? Don't do anything stupid. My patience has limits."
They let me out of the SUV but kept Daniel on the ground. I knelt beside him, Whitmore's shadow falling across both of us. The asphalt was still warm from the afternoon sun, rough against my knees.
"Are you hurt?" I kept my voice low.
"I can handle it." Daniel's standard deflection. "You shouldn't have said no to him."
"You don't actually want me to take that deal, right?"
His teeth pressed together. "It's a good deal."
"It's a cage."
"It's a restaurant. Your restaurant. Everything you've been working toward."
I touched his face, turning it toward me. There was a scrape along his cheekbone, already starting to bruise. "Funded by blood money. Built on silence. You think I could cook in that kitchen? You think I could serve people food knowing what I'd done to get it?"
"People do worse things for less."
"I'm not people. And neither are you."
the dynamic had changed his expression. Not quite hope, but close. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking your uncle is scared. Really scared. He wouldn't be offering me two million dollars if he thought he could just make this go away. The story is out there. It's spreading. And the more he tries to control it, the worse it's going to look."
"So?"
"So we don't let him control it. We tell the truth. All of it. Before he can spin it into something else."
Daniel's her gaze sharpened. "Nora, no. You don't understand what you're suggesting. My family will destroy you. They'll dig up every mistake you've ever made, every person you've ever hurt. They'll turn your life inside out."
"Let them. I've got nothing to hide."
"Everyone has something to hide."
The words hung between us. I thought about my parents' bankruptcy, about the restaurant they'd lost, about the shame that had followed us for years. About the boyfriend in culinary school who'd stolen my recipes and passed them off as his own. About the head chef who'd grabbed my ass and told me I should be grateful for the attention. Small humiliations. Private failures. Nothing compared to what Daniel was facing.
"Time's up." Whitmore's hand closed around my arm, pulling me to my feet.
"Wait—"
"Mr. Ashford wants his answer."
They hauled Daniel up too, keeping him separated from me as we walked back to the SUV. Richard was on his phone, his voice sharp. "I don't care what the lawyers say. Make it happen. Yes, I understand the optics. Just do it."
He ended the call as we approached. "Well? Do we have an agreement?"
I looked at Daniel. He gave the smallest shake of his head. Don't do this, his eyes said. Take the deal. Save yourself.
But I'd spent six years saving myself. Six years building walls, keeping people at arm's length, making sure I never needed anyone enough to be hurt by them. And where had it gotten me? Standing in a parking lot with a gun-shaped bruise forming on my temple and a man I loved being used as leverage against me.
Loved.
The word settled into my chest like a stone dropping into still water. Ripples spreading outward.
Oh.
"I need more time to think about it," I said.
Richard's expression hardened. "You've had enough time."
"Twenty-four hours. That's all I'm asking."
"Twelve. And you don't leave the city. Whitmore will be keeping an eye on you." Richard gestured to his security chief. "Take them back to the restaurant. Separately. I don't want them coordinating stories."
"You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want, kiddo. You're going to learn that lesson one way or another. The easy way or the hard way. Your choice."
Whitmore drove me back to the restaurant in silence. Daniel went in a different car with the two men who'd pinned him down. I watched the other vehicle disappear into traffic, my hands clenched in my lap.
The jade bracelet caught the streetlight as we passed under it. My grandmother's voice echoed in my head. Don't let anyone make you small.
"He's going to be okay, right?" I asked Whitmore.
He didn't answer.
"I'm asking you a direct question. Is Daniel going to be okay?"
"That depends on you."
"On whether I take the deal."
"On whether you're smart enough to recognize a gift when it's offered."
We pulled up outside the restaurant. The lunch rush was long over, but I could see movement inside through the windows. Probably the evening prep crew. My normal life, continuing without me.
"Twelve hours," Whitmore said. "Don't make me come looking for you."
I got out of the car without responding. The door to the restaurant was unlocked. Inside, Marcus was at the prep station, breaking down a chicken. He looked up as I entered.
"Boss. You look like hell."
"Long day."
"Daniel called earlier. Said you two were dealing with some family emergency. Everything okay?"
The lie would be so easy. Yes, everything's fine. Just some drama with his uncle. Nothing to worry about. But I was so tired of lying. Tired of pretending. Tired of making myself small to fit into spaces that were never meant for me.
"No," I said. "Everything is not okay."
Marcus set down his knife. "You want to talk about it?"
"I want to cook."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "What are we making?"
"Something complicated. Something that requires my full attention."
"Beef Wellington?"
"Perfect."
We worked in silence for a while, falling into the familiar rhythm of the kitchen. Trimming the tenderloin. Searing it. Preparing the duxelles. The repetitive motions calmed something in me, smoothed out the jagged edges of panic.
"You know what I love about cooking?" Marcus said, spreading the mushroom mixture onto the prosciutto. "It's honest. You can't fake it. Either you put in the work or you don't. Either the dish comes together or it falls apart. No middle ground."
"That's not true. Plenty of restaurants fake it. Frozen ingredients, microwave reheating, pre-made sauces."
"Sure. But you can taste the difference, right? You always know when someone's taking shortcuts."
I thought about Richard's offer. Two million dollars. My own restaurant. Everything I'd been working toward, handed to me on a silver platter. All I had to do was stay quiet. Disappear. Let Daniel face the consequences alone while I built my dream on the foundation of his nightmare.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "You can always taste the difference."
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer, but something made me pick up.
"Nora Chen?" A woman's voice. Young. Nervous.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Jessica Morrison. I'm—I was—Tom Morrison's partner. The one who posted the evidence online."
My hand tightened around the phone. "How did you get this number?"
"Tom gave it to me. Before they took him. He said if anything happened, I should call you. He said you were trying to help."
"Where is he? Is he okay?"
"I don't know. They moved him this morning. I've been trying to track him down, but the Ashfords have connections everywhere. Police, hospitals, even the private security firms. It's like he just vanished."
Marcus was watching me now, his hands still on the pastry. I turned away, lowering my voice.
"Why are you calling me?"
"Because I need your help. The evidence I posted online—it's just the beginning. Tom had more. A lot more. Financial records, emails, witness statements. Enough to bring down the entire Ashford family. But it's encrypted, and I can't access it without the password."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Tom said you'd know where to find it. He said he gave you something. A lunch box?"
The lunch box. The one Morrison had handed me in the parking lot before everything went to hell. I'd shoved it in my bag without thinking, too focused on Daniel to pay attention to anything else.
"I have it."
"Then we need to meet. Tonight. Before the Ashfords figure out what Tom was really protecting."
"I can't. They're watching me. If I leave—"
"Then they win. Is that what you want?"
No. It wasn't what I wanted. But I didn't know if I was brave enough to be what this situation needed. I was a chef. I made food. I ran a restaurant. I wasn't equipped for corporate espionage and family conspiracies and men with guns.
But Daniel was.
And he'd chosen to protect me anyway.
"Where?" I asked.
Jessica gave me an address. A coffee shop in the university district, public enough to be safe but quiet enough to talk. "One hour. Come alone."
She hung up before I could respond.
Marcus was still watching me. "Boss?"
"I need to go."
"You just got here."
"I know. I'm sorry. Can you finish the Wellington?"
"Sure, but—Nora, what's going on? You're scaring me."
I grabbed my bag from the office, checking to make sure the lunch box was still inside. It was. Plain metal, slightly dented, with a faded sticker of a cartoon cat on the lid. It looked like something you'd pack a kid's sandwich in, not evidence that could destroy one of the most powerful families in the city.
"If anyone asks where I went, you don't know. Okay?"
"Nora—"
"Please, Marcus. Trust me."
He nodded slowly. "Be careful."
I left through the back door, checking the street for Whitmore's car. It was parked half a block down, engine running. He'd see me if I tried to leave on foot. But the restaurant backed up to an alley that connected to the next street over. If I was fast, if I was lucky, I could make it to the main road before the truth landed: I was gone.
The alley was dark, lined with dumpsters and recycling bins. My footsteps echoed off the brick walls. Halfway through, I heard a car door slam behind me. Footsteps. Running.
I ran too.
The alley opened onto a busier street. I flagged down a taxi, throwing myself into the back seat. "University district. Fast."
The driver pulled into traffic just as Whitmore emerged from the alley. Our eyes met through the rear window. He was already on his phone.
"Change of plans," I told the driver. "Take me to the police station instead."
"Which one?"
"Any one. The closest."
But even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't work. Richard had connections everywhere. Police, hospitals, private security. Jessica had said it herself. The Ashfords owned this city in ways that made official channels meaningless.
"Actually, no. University district. The original address."
The driver gave me a look in the rearview mirror but didn't argue.
My phone rang. Richard.
I answered.
"That was very stupid, Nora."
"I'm done playing by your rules."
"You don't have a choice. I have Daniel. And unless you want to find out exactly how far I'm willing to go to protect my family, you'll turn that taxi around right now and go back to your restaurant."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I? Would you like me to put him on the phone? Let you hear what happens when people don't cooperate?"
My stomach dropped. "Don't hurt him."
"Then cooperate. You have ten minutes to get back to the restaurant. After that, I start making decisions you won't like."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. Ten minutes. The coffee shop was at least fifteen minutes away, probably more with traffic. I couldn't make both. Couldn't save Daniel and meet Jessica. Couldn't protect the man I loved and expose the truth that might actually set him free.
"Miss?" The driver was watching me in the mirror. "Where are we going?"
The lunch box sat heavy in my bag. Inside it, according to Jessica, was everything we needed to end this. To bring down the Ashfords. To make sure what happened to Sarah Morrison—and to Daniel—never happened to anyone else.
But Daniel was in danger right now. Immediate, physical danger. And I was the only one who could stop it.
Don't let anyone make you small.
My grandmother's voice. But she'd never had to choose between her principles and someone's life. Or maybe she had. Maybe that was exactly the choice she'd faced, over and over, and somehow she'd found a way to stay whole through it.
"University district," I said. "And I'll give you an extra fifty if you can get there in under ten minutes."
The driver grinned and hit the gas.
The coffee shop was nearly empty when I arrived. Jessica was in the back corner, laptop open, two cups of coffee on the table. She looked younger than I'd expected. Mid-twenties, maybe. Dark circles under her eyes. The kind of exhaustion that came from fear, not just lack of sleep.
"You came," she said as I slid into the seat across from her.
"I have maybe five minutes before Richard Ashford figures out where I am and sends someone to drag me back."
"Then let's make them count. Do you have the lunch box?"
I pulled it from my bag and set it on the table. Jessica opened it carefully, like it might explode. Inside was a USB drive taped to the bottom and a folded piece of paper.
She unfolded the paper. A string of numbers and letters. The password.
"This is it," she breathed. "This is everything."
"What exactly is on there?"
"Proof. Not just of the cover-up with Sarah Morrison. Everything. Tax fraud, bribery, witness intimidation. The Ashfords have been buying their way out of consequences for decades. Tom spent two years documenting it all."
"Why? What did they do to him?"
Jessica's expression hardened. "Sarah Morrison was my sister."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Your sister."
"Tom was her fiancé. They were supposed to get married that summer. And then Daniel Park got drunk, got behind the wheel, and killed her. And the Ashfords made it disappear. Paid off the coroner, paid off the police, paid off my parents to stay quiet. Tom couldn't let it go. Neither could I."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Help me finish what Tom started."
She plugged the USB drive into her laptop and entered the password. Files began populating the screen. Hundreds of them. Financial records, emails, scanned documents. Years of evidence, meticulously organized.
"We upload this to every news outlet simultaneously," Jessica said. "Make it impossible to contain. By morning, the Ashfords won't be able to buy their way out of this."
"And Daniel?"
"Goes down with them. I'm sorry, but that's how this works. He killed my sister. He doesn't get to walk away."
My phone rang again. Richard. I didn't answer.
"How long will the upload take?" I asked.
"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. The files are huge."
Twenty minutes. Richard's deadline had already passed. Whatever he was doing to Daniel, it was happening right now. And I was sitting in a coffee shop, watching files upload, choosing justice over the man I loved.
Except it wasn't justice. Not really. Daniel had been twenty-three. Drunk. Stupid. He'd made a terrible mistake, and he'd been living with the guilt ever since. He deserved consequences, yes. But he also deserved the chance to face them on his own terms, not as a pawn in his uncle's game or a casualty in Jessica's revenge.
"Stop the upload," I said.
Jessica's head snapped up. "What?"
"Stop it. We're doing this differently."
"There is no differently. This is the only way."
"No. It's the only way that makes you feel better. But it's not the only way to get justice for your sister."
"You don't get to make that call."
"Neither do you."
We stared at each other across the table. The laptop screen glowed between us, the progress bar creeping forward. Fifteen percent. Twenty.
My phone rang a third time. Not Richard. Daniel.
I answered.
"Nora." His voice was rough. Strained. "Where are you?"
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine. Listen to me. Whatever you're planning, whatever you think you're doing—stop. Just stop. Take the deal. Disappear. Live your life."
"I can't do that."
"Yes, you can. You have to. Because if you don't—" His voice broke. "Nora, he's going to kill Morrison. He's going to make it look like suicide, and there's nothing I can do to stop him unless you come back right now."
The coffee shop tilted. "He's bluffing."
"He's not. I'm looking at Morrison right now. He's in bad shape. And my uncle is done playing games."
Jessica had gone very still. "Is that about Tom?"
I nodded.
"Put it on speaker."
I did.
"Daniel," Jessica said. "This is Jessica Morrison. Tom's partner. Sarah's sister. Tell your uncle that if anything happens to Tom, the evidence goes live immediately. All of it. Every file, every document, every dirty secret your family has been hiding for the past twenty years. He'll be in prison before Tom's body is cold."
Silence on the other end. Then Richard's voice, smooth and cold. "Miss Morrison. How enterprising of you to join us. But I'm afraid you're operating under a misapprehension. I don't respond well to threats."
"It's not a threat. It's a promise."
"Then let me make you a promise in return. If those files go public, I will dedicate every resource at my disposal to destroying you. Your career, your reputation, your future. I will make sure you never work again, never find peace again, never—"
"I don't care." Jessica's voice was steady. "My sister is dead. You took her from me. You took Tom from me. You don't get to take anything else."
Another pause. Then: "Nora, are you still there?"
"I'm here."
"Then you have a choice to make. Come back now, take the deal, and everyone walks away. Or stay there, let Miss Morrison upload her files, and watch everything burn. Including the people you care about."
The progress bar hit fifty percent.
"How do I know you'll let Morrison go?" I asked.
"You don't. But you know what happens if you don't come back."
Jessica was shaking her head. "Don't do it. Don't let him win."
But Daniel was on the other end of that phone. Daniel, who'd thrown himself between me and a gun. Daniel, who'd spent six years carrying the weight of what he'd done. Daniel, who'd looked at me in that parking lot and told me to save myself.
The progress bar hit sixty percent.
"I'm coming back," I said.
"No—" Jessica lunged for the laptop, but I was faster. I yanked the USB drive out, stopping the upload.
"I'm sorry," I told her. "But there has to be another way."
"There isn't. You're choosing him over my sister. Over Tom. Over justice."
"I'm choosing to do this right. Not fast. Not easy. Right."
I stood, clutching the USB drive. Jessica didn't try to stop me. She just sat there, staring at the laptop screen, at the interrupted upload, at the justice that had been so close she could taste it.
"If Tom dies," she said quietly, "his blood is on your hands."
I didn't have an answer for that.
Outside, a black SUV was waiting. Whitmore stood beside it, arms crossed. He opened the door as I approached.
"Smart choice," he said.
I got in. Richard was in the front seat, phone pressed to his ear. Daniel was in the back, a bruise blooming across his jaw. Our eyes met.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be."
Richard ended his call and turned to face us. "Well. That was quite the adventure. But we're all back where we started, aren't we? Except now you understand the stakes. Now you know what I'm capable of. So let's try this again. Nora, do we have a deal?"
I looked at Daniel. At the bruise. At the guilt in his eyes. At the man who'd spent six years trying to be better than the worst thing he'd ever done.
"Yes," I said. "We have a deal."
Richard smiled. "Excellent. Whitmore, take us to the lawyer's office. Let's get this in writing before anyone changes their mind."
The SUV pulled into traffic. Through the window, I watched the city slide past. My city. The place I'd built a life, a career, a future. All of it about to disappear.
The USB drive was still in my pocket. Richard didn't know I had it. Didn't know that everything he'd spent decades hiding was sitting three feet away from him, waiting.
Daniel's hand found mine in the space between us. His fingers were cold.
"It's going to be okay," he whispered.
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that somehow, we'd find a way out of this. That justice and love weren't mutually exclusive. That doing the right thing didn't always mean losing everything.
But the SUV was already pulling up to a glass office building downtown. Whitmore opened the door. Richard gestured for us to follow.
"After you," he said.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk, Daniel beside me. The building loomed above us, all steel and glass and money. Inside, a lawyer was waiting with papers that would make me disappear. That would buy my silence. That would let the Ashfords win.
The USB drive felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket.
We walked toward the entrance. Richard's hand on my shoulder. Whitmore behind us. Daniel's fingers still laced through mine.
The glass doors slid open.
And then I heard it. A voice, calling my name. I turned.
Jessica Morrison stood on the sidewalk, laptop open in her arms, phone pressed to her ear. Behind her, a news van was pulling up to the curb. Then another. Then another.
"What—" Richard started.
Jessica smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I lied. The upload didn't stop when you pulled the drive. I'd already copied the files to the cloud. They've been uploading this whole time. And as of thirty seconds ago, they went live."
Richard's face went white. Then red. Then a color I didn't have a name for.
"You—"
"Every news outlet in the city has them now. The Times, the Post, the local stations. By morning, everyone will know exactly what the Ashford family has been hiding."
Whitmore moved toward her, but Jessica didn't flinch. "I wouldn't. There are cameras everywhere now. You really want to assault someone on live television?"
More news vans were arriving. Reporters spilling out onto the sidewalk. Cameras turning toward us.
Richard grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You did this. You planned this."
"No." I pulled free. "I tried to stop it. But maybe Jessica's right. Maybe there is no other way."
"You just signed Morrison's death warrant."
"Actually," a new voice said, "you did that yourself."
A man in a police uniform pushed through the crowd of reporters. Behind him, more officers. And between them, supported by two paramedics, was Tom Morrison. Alive. Bruised and battered, but alive.
"Tom!" Jessica ran to him.
Richard was backing toward the SUV, but the police were already surrounding it. One of them stepped forward, badge out.
"Richard Ashford, you're under arrest for kidnapping, witness intimidation, and conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent..."
The words faded into background noise. I was watching Daniel. He'd gone very still, his face unreadable.
"Daniel Park?" Another officer approached. "We're going to need you to come with us as well. We have some questions about the death of Sarah Morrison."
Daniel nodded slowly. "I understand."
He looked at me one last time. "Thank you," he said. "For not taking the deal."
"I did take the deal. I just didn't sign it."
something close to amusement crossed his face. Then the officers were leading him away, and I was standing alone on the sidewalk, watching the man I loved disappear into a police car while cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions and Richard Ashford screamed about lawyers and rights and consequences.
Jessica appeared at my elbow. "I'm sorry I lied to you."
"No, you're not."
"No. I'm not." She paused. "But I am sorry about Daniel. I know you care about him."
"He killed your sister."
"Yes. And he's going to face consequences for that. Real consequences, not the fake ones his family bought him. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about what it's costing you."
I watched the police car pull away, Daniel's face visible through the rear window. He wasn't looking back.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now? Now the truth comes out. All of it. And we see what's left when the dust settles."
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "The lunch box was empty. The real evidence was always in the cloud. Tom set it up years ago, triggered to release if he didn't check in every 24 hours. You were never the key. You were the distraction. Sorry for using you. -J"
I looked at Jessica. She had the grace to look slightly guilty.
"You played me."
"I needed Richard to think you had the evidence. Needed him focused on you while the real upload finished. It was the only way to keep Tom alive long enough for the police to find him."
"You could have told me."
"Would you have been as convincing if you'd known it was all theater?"
Probably not. I'd never been good at lying. My face gave everything away.
"For what it's worth," Jessica said, "you did the right thing. Trying to stop the upload. Trying to save Daniel. It didn't work, but you tried. That counts for something."
Did it? I wasn't sure. Daniel was still in a police car. Richard was still being arrested. Sarah Morrison was still dead. And I was still standing on a sidewalk, watching my life implode in real time.
But at least the truth was out. At least the Ashfords couldn't hurt anyone else. At least Daniel would face real consequences, not the sanitized version his family had bought him.
At least I hadn't disappeared.
A reporter shoved a microphone in my face. "Miss Chen, what's your relationship to Daniel Park? Did you know about the cover-up? Are you cooperating with the investigation?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could speak, the glass doors behind me exploded outward in a shower of fragments, and someone grabbed me from behind, dragging me backward into the building as gunshots echoed off the steel and glass and the world went