The Billionaire behind the Silver Mask

People had been staring at me for the last ten minutes.

At first, I ignored them. People looked my way all the time. Some recognized me as Victor Hart's daughter. Others simply stared because I carried drawing tubes everywhere I went.

Today, though, the looks felt different.

I stepped out of the print shop with a warm sheet of paper clutched carefully between my fingers. The ink was still fresh.

Congratulations!

I'd already read that first line at least ten times, but I couldn't stop smiling. Out of hundreds of applicants, I'd been accepted into Hawthorne & Pierce's internship program.

My heart did a little flip. Dad was going to lose his mind.

He had kept every drawing I'd made since I was ten years old. Even the embarrassing ones with crooked windows and trees that looked more like broccoli. Every time I doubted myself, he would pull one out of a drawer and tell me the same thing.

"One day, you'll design buildings that people will remember."

I laughed quietly to myself. "I can't wait to see your face," I murmured, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into a clear document sleeve.

The weather had been threatening to pour all morning and dark clouds swallowed what little sunlight remained. A cool wind brushed past me, the moment I crossed the pavement toward the café beside the print shop.

The bell above the door chimed softly.

"Morning, Miss Hart," the cashier greeted with a forced smile.

I smiled back anyway. "The usual, please."

"Coffee with extra sugar?"

I nodded.

"And one meat pie."

He chuckled.

"For your father?"

"Who else?" I laughed.

He smiled and shook his head.

"He still skips lunch?"

"Every chance he gets." I answered.

The cashier shook his head again while preparing the order.

"One day you're going to get tired of looking after that man."

"Not today," I said.

He handed me the coffee, hesitated, then forced a smile.

"Have a good day, Miss Hart."

Outside, conversations stopped as I walked past. A delivery rider slowed just long enough to look at me before riding away.

I frowned. Did I spill coffee on myself already? I glanced down. No. Everything looked fine.

Weird.

Shrugging it off, I adjusted my umbrella and started walking toward Hart Holdings. The building came into view at the end of the street, and my steps slowed.

Something wasn't right.

There were far too many people outside. Even from a distance, I could see flashing police lights reflecting against the glass walls of the building.

News vans and television cameras lined the entrance. Employees gathered in small groups. Some were crying while others stood frozen, staring at their phones.

A security guard struggled to keep several angry men from pushing through the front entrance.

My smile disappeared and the coffee in my hand suddenly felt heavier.

"What..." The word barely left my lips. I looked up at the company logo fixed proudly above the entrance.

Hart Holdings.

Father had spent over thirty years building it. He used to call it his second child.

People were carrying cardboard boxes out of the lobby. Someone walked past me holding a framed family photograph from one of the offices.

My heartbeat began to race. I tightened my grip on the coffee and hurried forward. No one stopped me or greeted me. They simply watched. As if they all knew something I didn't.

The closer I got, the quieter the world became. Then someone shouted."Miss Hart!"

I stopped instinctively. A woman holding a microphone hurried toward me, followed by two cameramen.

The moment they recognized me, the rest of the reporters rushed over.

"Miss Hart, is it true Hart Holdings has gone bankrupt?"

"Did your father know the company was about to collapse?"

"Is there any truth to the fraud allegations?"

"Miss Hart, what are you going to do now that your family has lost everything?"

Microphones were suddenly everywhere. Camera flashes burst in my face.

I stared at them, completely lost.

"What...?"

The reporter nearest to me frowned.

"Miss Hart, are you saying you knew nothing about the bankruptcy?"

My stomach tightened. "What are you talking about?"

Nobody answered. They simply kept throwing questions at me.

I looked past the crowd and saw Clara. She used to sneak chocolates into my school bag whenever I visited. She was standing near the entrance.

An employee moved past her carrying a cardboard box. A picture frame slipped out and the glass shattered across the wet pavement.

Nobody stopped to pick it up. A chill ran through me. I pushed past the reporters.

"Excuse me."

"Please move."

I didn't wait for another question. All I needed was Clara.

"Clara?"

She flinched, then slowly looked up. Her eyes were red. "What happened?" I asked, forcing a smile that even I didn't believe. "What are they saying about bankruptcy and fraud?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. The silence that stretched between us told me everything. But before I processed it properly, a thought hit me. Dad.

"Clara." My voice came out a little sharper this time. "Where's my dad?"

She looked away and I felt my stomach twist. "No..." I whispered before she could respond. "Look at me, Clara."

Almost immediately, old Mr.Benson from the accounting department came over. The cheerful accountant I grew up with was nowhere to be seen.

"Miss Mona..." His voice cracked. I moved towards him impatiently. "Mr.Benson. Were's my father?"

He swallowed hard. "The chairman..." He paused. "He collapsed during the emergency board meeting."

Everything inside me went still. It felt like the world stopped. Just like that, the coffee slipped from my fingers and the paper bag tore open. The meat pie inside it rolled across the wet pavement. Then my acceptance letter slid into a puddle.

 I suddenly could not hear anything. Only one word echoed in my head.

"...Collapsed?"

The word didn't make sense. Dad worked through fevers and laughed off headaches. I shook my head slowly.

"No. There has to be some mistake." Mr Benson looked almost like he wanted to cry too. "I'm sorry, Miss Mona."

My chest ached. "Where is he?" Mr Benson hesitated. "St. Gabriel's..." I turned and ran immediately, leaving everything behind. I had to get to my father. 

I ran blindly through the rain. Cold water soaked through my clothes within seconds, but I didn't feel it.

"Taxi!"

My voice broke as I waved frantically at the passing cars.

One sped past. Another was already occupied. I stepped into the road impulsively and a horn blared. Tyres screeched against the wet asphalt.

Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me back. "What are you doing?" a man shouted. "Do you want to die?"

I pulled free before he could say anything else. "Sorry." The words came out as little more than a whisper.

A worn yellow taxi slowed beside me. The elderly driver rolled down his window, taking one look at my tear-streaked face.

"Hospital?"

I nodded so hard it hurt. "St.... Gabriel's."

He reached across and pushed the passenger door open."Get in."

The drive felt endless as rain hammered against the windows I clasped my trembling hands together, praying over and over.

Please...

Just let me get there in time.

The taxi stopped before the emergency entrance. Before the driver could say a word, I threw some cash onto the seat and jumped out.

The hospital doors slid open with hiss and cold from the air conditioner hit me immediately, making me shiver but I couldn't care less. Doctors hurried past and nurses pushed stretchers down the corridor.

Everything around me moved too fast. I rushed to the reception desk.

"My father." My voice shook so badly. "Victor Hart... where is he?"

The nurse looked up and recognition flashed across her face. "ICU," she said quickly, pointing down the corridor. "Straight ahead."

I ran again. My footsteps echoed against the polished floor.

ICU.

I reached the corridor....and stopped. Three men in expensive black suits stood outside the intensive care unit.

One of them held a leather document case. Another spoke in a low, measured voice. "...Mr. Hart is unconscious."

A second man sighed. "Then there's no more time."

The first opened the leather folder. "If the contract isn't signed today...Mr. Hart won't survive this."

I froze.

Contract?

What contract?