Novels by Koko miland

Maya’s POVTwo years after stepping back, we stood in the auditorium of Portland Community College watching the first Michael Collins Memorial Scholarship recipients graduate.Twenty-three students—children of journalists, whistleblowers, activists, and truth-tellers who’d been killed or destroyed for speaking out. All receiving degrees they’d earned with scholarships funded by the evidence my father died protecting.“This is his legacy,” I whispered to Alex, watching them cross the stage. Emma, now three and a half, sat on his lap, asking too-loud questions about why people wore “funny hats.”After the ceremony, recipients lined up to meet us. One young woman, Sarah Chen, approached with tears in her eyes.“My mother exposed toxic dumping by her company. They fired and sued her into bankruptcy. She died when I was twelve.” Sarah’s voice broke. “This scholarship gave me what poverty took away—a future. Thank you.”I hugged her tightly. “Your mother was a hero.“No,” Sarah said. “This

Alex’s POVOne year after Richard’s death, we stood in the conference room of our new headquarters—a five-story building we owned outright, purchased with revenue from a business we’d built ethically from nothing.“Five hundred eighty-three thousand monthly,” James announced, pride evident in his voice. “Almost seven million annually. Forty-two consultants. Eighteen support staff. Offices in three states now.”The growth was real. Sustainable. Built on referrals, reputation, and results—not corruption or connections. Everything my father’s empire had been, we’d created its opposite.“And the scholarship fund?” Maya asked.“One hundred twenty-three recipients this year,” Caroline reported. “Full rides for children whose parents were killed by corruption or poverty. Your father’s legacy is alive, Maya. Really alive.”After the meeting, Maya and I walked through the building—our building—looking at office spaces filled with people we’d hired, trained, and empowered. People building caree

Maya’s POVSpring arrived with the softness of hope. Emma was nine months old now, crawling everywhere, pulling herself up on furniture, babbling sounds that almost resembled words. Jake was finishing his junior year at MIT with straight A’s, already receiving internship offers from tech companies. And Collins-Stone Consulting had grown beyond anything we’d imagined.“Four hundred twenty-eight thousand monthly,” Alex reported during our Sunday breakfast, Emma in her high chair smashing banana into her face with delighted concentration. “Over five million annually. We’re officially a mid-sized firm.”“How many employees now?” I asked.“Twenty-three consultants, eleven support staff. We’re looking at bigger office space again—the current one’s already cramped.”I was consulting twenty hours weekly now, managing eight clients I loved working with. The work fed something in me that had been dormant during those dark depression months—a sense of purpose, competence, contribution.“How are

Alex’s POVThe federal courthouse in Hartford looked more like a fortress than a place of justice. Marble walls rose high above us, surrounded by heavy security. News vans crowded the streets. Reporters shouted questions as cameras flashed nonstop while our security team pushed us forward.“Mr. Stone, do you feel vindicated?”“Maya, how does it feel to see your father’s killer finally on trial?”“Will you ask for the death penalty?”We ignored every word. Our only focus was getting inside safely.Emma was not with us. She was at the safe house with Carmen and armed guards. Jake was in school under FBI protection. Today was just Maya and me—witnesses walking into the final chapter of something that began fifteen years ago.Inside the courtroom, every seat was filled. Lawyers, reporters, observers—everyone wanted to witness the fall of Richard Stone.He sat at the defense table in a prison jumpsuit, looking smaller than I remembered. Fragile. Old. When our eyes met briefly, he looked aw

Maya’s POVSix months after publishing the evidence, our lives had settled into a fragile rhythm. It wasn’t peaceful, not exactly, but it was real. We lived carefully, always alert, yet finally breathing again.Emma was learning to sit up now, her dark eyes following every movement in the room with fierce curiosity. Jake had been accepted into MIT’s early admission program with a full scholarship, something that still felt unreal when we said it out loud. And Collins-Stone Consulting hadn’t just survived the scandal—it had grown.“Three hundred and eighty-five thousand monthly,” Alex said one morning during breakfast, Emma bouncing happily on his knee. “We’re getting close to five million a year.”“How?” I asked honestly, surprised. “We lost so many clients.”“We gained more,” he said with a tired but proud smile. “Companies that care about ethics instead of connections. People who watched us fight corruption and wanted to stand with us. Turns out, standing for something actually matt

Alex’s POVThe morning after Maya published everything, our world exploded. My phone rang nonstop from six o’clock, an endless stream of notifications and calls. News outlets, journalists, book publishers, movie producers—everyone wanted our story packaged, analyzed, and broadcast to the world.“CNN wants an interview,” I told Maya over breakfast, scrolling through another hundred messages. “So does The New York Times, Washington Post, ABC, NBC… and about forty more outlets.”“Good,” she said, feeding Emma with calm precision. “The more public we are, the safer we become. What did Walsh say?”“She’s furious we didn’t coordinate with the investigation first. But she admits it worked. We’re too visible now for quiet elimination. Killing us would create more problems than letting us live.”Jake appeared in the doorway, looking pale and worried. “There are reporters outside the gate. At least twenty of them, cameras everywhere. They’ve been here since dawn.”“Let them wait,” Maya said fir

Three days passed like three years. Felix didn't come back. Didn't call. Didn't send word through Vincent or Carlo. He'd simply vanished, leaving Muna to manage their crumbling empire alone.The Russians sensed weakness immediately. They hit a Castelli warehouse in Brooklyn, burned it to the ground, killed two soldiers. It was a clear challenge—without Felix actively leading, they thought the organization would fold.Muna stood in the Red Hook safe house, staring at maps and intelligence reports spread across the dining table. Carlo stood beside her, his expression carefully neutral."The men are asking what you want to do," he said quietly. "They need direction.""Where's Felix?" she asked, not for the first time."Still unreachable. Vincent says he's somewhere safe but needs time." Carlo paused. "Which means you're in charge, Mrs. Castelli. The question is—what do you want to do about the Russians?"Muna studied the maps, her mind working through options. Three days ago, she would h

Back at the safe house, the silence was deafening. Isabella sat on the couch, cleaned and bandaged, staring at nothing. Vincent coordinated security while Carlo handled communications with their remaining operations. And Felix stood at the window, refusing to look at Muna.The ride back had been torture—three hours of heavy silence, Felix sitting as far from her as possible, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle ticking. Now, in the supposed safety of their temporary home, the distance between them felt like an ocean."We need to talk," Muna said quietly."Not now." His voice was ice."Felix—""I said not now!" He whirled to face her, and the fury in his eyes made her flinch. "Do you have any idea what it felt like watching you walk toward that psychopath? Knowing you'd made a deal behind my back, that you were willing to sacrifice yourself because you thought I couldn't handle the truth?""I was trying to save my mother—""By lying to me! By keeping secrets! By breaking

The warehouse loomed like a tomb in the darkness. Felix's convoy rolled to a stop three blocks away, engines cutting to silence. Twenty armed soldiers moved through shadows with lethal precision, spreading out to surround the building where Isabella was supposedly being held captive.Muna crouched beside Felix behind a rusted shipping container, her heart slamming against her ribs. But beneath the fear for her mother lived a guilt so crushing she could barely breathe.She had to tell him. Now. Before they walked into whatever trap waited inside."Felix," she whispered, grabbing his arm. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you days ago.""Not now." His eyes stayed locked on the warehouse, scanning for threats. "We talk after we get your mother out.""No. Now." Her voice shook with urgency. "Because if something happens in there, if one of us doesn't make it out, I need you to know the truth."He turned to face her, his expression darkening in the dim li

The safe house was cold in the morning. Muna had not slept. The weight of her lies pressed on her chest like a stone. Felix still slept beside her, one arm thrown across her waist. He looked peaceful. She traced the line of his jaw and tried to memorize it. In a few hours, everything could change. He might never look at her the same way again.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it slowly, careful not to wake him. An unknown number filled the screen:TIME’S UP. TONIGHT. 8 PM. THE SAME WAREHOUSE WHERE WE MET. COME ALONE OR I TELL FELIX EVERYTHING. YOUR CHOICE.Her hands began to shake. The debt had been called in.She could run. She could pack a bag and disappear before Felix woke. But running would prove every bad thing he already suspected. It would shred whatever trust they had left.Or she could tell him. Finally. Before the enemy did.The idea of telling him made her throat close. The thought of watching his face change when he heard the truth terrified her more th

The warehouse in the Meatpacking District was cold, even with the heaters running. Muna sat wrapped in one of Felix’s shirts, watching him talk to Vincent over an encrypted call about the council meeting happening that night.“Every family will be there,” Vincent said. “The Russians, Irish, Mexicans everyone.”“Security?” Felix asked.“As tight as possible, but it’s still risky. All our enemies in one room””“That’s the point,” Felix cut in. “We either take control now or fight them one by one later.”After the call, Felix walked to Muna and pulled her close. “You sure about this?”“No,” she admitted, “but we don’t have a choice. We show strength, or we look weak. There’s no middle ground.”He kissed her. It started soft but quickly turned into something hungry and rough. They needed to feel each other to remind themselves they were alive.When it was over, they stayed pressed together, breathing hard.“I love you,” Felix whispered. “Whatever happens tonight, remember that.”“I love y

The photograph burned in Felix's hand proof that even here, in his most secure location, they were being watched. Someone had cameras recording their most intimate moments."How the fuck is this possible?" he growled, already tearing through the bedroom, checking every corner, every surface for hidden surveillance.Muna stood frozen, feeling violated in a way that made her skin crawl. "We swept this place. Multiple times.""Then we missed something. Or someone's been here since." Felix's expression turned murderous. "Vincent!"Within minutes, Vincent arrived with a security team, professional-grade detection equipment in hand. As they began another sweep, Muna found Isabella hovering in the hallway, her face pale."What's happened?" her mother asked."Someone's still watching us," Muna said coldly. "Still recording everything we do. And you're going to tell us how.""I don't know what you—""Bullshit." Muna grabbed her mother's arm, pulling her into the study and slamming the door. Fe