That Woman, Emma.

Victor

I sat transfixed before the imposing television screen, my knuckles pale from the tension coursing through my clenched fist. It felt as though I hadn't drawn a proper breath in minutes, my mind reeling from the overwhelming news that had dominated every media outlet since the morning.

Operation Avalon Graft, orchestrated by the FBI, had unfolded, unveiling a vast network of human trafficking and money laundering. The names implicated in the investigation were staggering, thrusting them into the unforgiving spotlight of public scrutiny. Among them was James Silvester, a shocking revelation according to the reports. But it didn't stop there. The tarnished reputations extended to Silvester and Hughes, their firm allegedly used as a conduit for the illicit transfer of trafficking proceeds.

That despicable individual had the audacity to funnel donations under the guise of our firm's name, yet every penny was a sham, a mere façade to cloak his criminal activities in legitimacy. He skillfully exploited the firm as a shield to perpetuate his crimes, only to disappear without a trace when the reckoning arrived.

This is a catastrophe of monumental proportions. I could attempt to feign indifference, to portray a facade of composure in the face of this crisis, but it would be a hollow deception. I am utterly shattered by this news. Breathing feels like an impossible task, and the mere thought of movement threatens to induce nausea. I am paralyzed by the magnitude of this nightmare.

The board has summoned an emergency meeting in just an hour, and I am utterly unprepared. What can I possibly say to them? How could I have been so blind as to entrust Silvester with oversight of our accounts? And what explanation can I offer for his disappearance? The truth is clear now—he didn't go on vacation, he fled. He knew the truth would emerge, leaving us to grapple with the wreckage he left in his wake.

There came a gentle rap on the door, and without needing to turn, I knew it was my father entering the room. Surprisingly, he didn't unleash a tirade or attempt to castigate me for the unfolding events; perhaps, like me, he was grappling with processing the gravity of the situation. With a heavy sigh, my father sank into the couch beside me. Though I felt his gaze flickering in my direction, I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. Instead, my focus remained steadfastly fixed on the television screen, where the exposure of influential figures was unfolding before my eyes. While the report droned on, I found myself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, struggling to make sense of it all.

"It seems the FBI has been reaching out to some former employees of the firm," my father informed me, breaking the silence. "They've been questioning them about James—and Ted Cox, as well," he continued, his tone laden with uncertainty. "It's possible that some of our own staff members may have been under scrutiny by the FBI, but then again, I could be mistaken."

His words jolted me from my reverie, and I squinted at him in disbelief. "Ted Cox is implicated too?" I couldn't help but inquire, my voice tinged with incredulity.

My father exhaled wearily, nodding slowly. "He was apprehended just a short while ago. While he may not be directly involved, his name was mentioned alongside James's in connection with our firm," he replied solemnly.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. It was clear now why James had always staunchly supported Ted. They were partners in crime. James didn't just hire Ted; he strategically placed him within the firm. While I couldn't deny Ted's legal prowess, whispers of his misconduct had circulated within the firm, conveniently silenced by James's intervention. I had assumed Ted was simply cautioned, but now it was evident that James had ensured any complaints never reached my desk. That conniving son of a bitch played me like a fiddle.

"I pray James didn't take the coward's way out," I muttered, my thoughts consumed by uncertainty. I didn't want him to have the luxury of controlling his own fate. I wanted him to suffer. After all, he had been complicit in the despicable trade of innocent lives, predominantly children. The revulsion churned in my gut, and I couldn't even bring myself to regard him as human. He was nothing short of a vile monster.