Chapter 14

Evelyn’s POV

I woke up that morning to noise. At first, I thought I was dreaming because it felt like part of whatever messy dream I was having people talking, flashes of voices, a strange buzz that wouldn’t stop. But when I opened my eyes and listened properly, it was real. The noise was coming from outside.

I pulled myself out of bed and walked to the window, still half asleep, thinking maybe one of the neighbors was having some sort of delivery or event. But the moment I looked out, my heart dropped. There was a crowd outside our gates. Reporters. Cameras flashing, microphones sticking out like weapons, vans with station logos parked in front of the house.

It was chaos.

For a second, I just stood there staring, trying to make sense of it. Then I heard voices downstairs and rushed out, not even bothering to change out of my nightgown. My hair was a mess, feet bare, but I didn’t care.

Before I got down the last step, I saw Clara by the front door. She was standing next to her father, peeking out through the glass panel.

“What’s going on?” I asked, walking towards them. My voice sounded tight, like I’d been holding my breath since I woke up.

Clara turned around the second she saw me. “Mom!” She ran to hug me, her voice small, confused. I held her close, still looking at Alfred.

He looked furious jaw clenched, phone in his hand, already dressed in a shirt and trousers like he hadn’t even slept.

“The news is everywhere,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “It got leaked. Every up-and-coming reporter in this city is trying to make a headline out of this for cheap clicks.”

I looked outside again. The crowd seemed bigger than before. I could hear the shouts now reporters calling his name, asking questions, cameras clicking nonstop. Some even stood on cars just to get a better view.

It was blowing up, faster than I ever expected.

Alfred was pacing now, muttering under his breath as he made calls. He barked orders to the police, demanding they send patrols to clear the street. Then another call to Lawson. He wanted to know who leaked the story, why their so-called airtight media plan failed.

I just stood there, watching him lose control bit by bit, feeling that guilty mix of fear and satisfaction churn in my stomach.

Just then, my phone rang.

I looked down. Madeline.

My heart jumped.

I walked to the other end of the living room and picked up quietly, making sure Clara and Alfred couldn’t hear.

“Hey, Maddie, what did you do?” My voice came out sharper than I meant it. “The news is everywhere. Reporters are at my house this early. What the hell?”

“I didn’t leak anything to the press,” she said quickly. “They must’ve gotten it somewhere else. You know how nosey they can be.”

There was silence after that. Long, heavy silence.

I didn’t believe her, not completely, but I didn’t have the strength to fight about it.

“Maddie, I didn’t want any of this,” I said quietly. “Not like this. Not with my kids in the house.”

“I know,” she said. “But listen my guy at the Bureau called this morning. They need more evidence. Financial statements, transfer records, something solid.”

I pressed a hand against my temple. “Isn’t that enough already? They have what they need. That’s their job. They should be able to find something with that.” My voice rose without meaning to. “I can’t just keep doing this. They’re watching everything now.”

“He said they can’t charge without something concrete,” she insisted. “They have almost everything else. Just one more thing to link it directly to him. You have access. Get it done.”

The words kept echoing in my head even after she stopped talking. Get something.

My mind was spinning. Alfred had already locked everything away after the summons his office was being monitored by his internal audit team, every document double-checked, every file locked. But if I wanted to finish what I started, I’d have to find a way. Quietly.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll think of something.”

“Do it soon,” she said, and hung up.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the blank screen, listening to the noise outside, the shouts, the sound of cars honking. I felt the guilt press hard against my chest. I didn’t want any of this to touch Clara. I didn’t want her seeing her father humiliated like this. But it was too late to stop.

When I turned back, Alfred was standing by the doorway, phone still at his ear, voice sharp and frustrated. Clara had gone upstairs thank God. She didn’t need to see this side of him.

He slammed his phone on the table. “The police are sending two units. Lawson’s working on a statement, but apparently someone on our team is feeding information to the press. A mole.”

“Maybe it’s just coincidence,” I said softly, trying to sound neutral.

He turned to me, face red. “Coincidence? You think this kind of thing just happens?”

I shrugged. “You’re the one with enemies, Alfred. You made them.”

He stared at me like he wanted to say something cruel, but he didn’t. Instead, he started another call, barking instructions again, demanding names, threats flying out of his mouth like he was still in control of anything.

I looked at him—really looked. He was unraveling. The man who never lost his temper in public, who always had a polished smile, now shouting into his phone, sleeves rolled up, veins in his neck visible. It almost felt like karma.

A few minutes later, the sound outside started to change. Sirens. Then shouts. The police had arrived. Through the window, I could see officers pushing the crowd back, waving their hands, telling reporters to move their cars. The street began to clear, little by little, until all that was left were two vans and a handful of persistent journalists standing behind the gates with cameras still rolling.

Alfred exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face. “This is insane.”

He looked at me again. “We have to go to the office. Lawson’s already there with the team. We need to get ahead of this before it destroys everything.”

I nodded, though my mind was still somewhere else, back to what Madeline said just get something.

He was still talking, listing the calls he needed to make, the meetings he had scheduled, the strategy they’d come up with. I barely heard him. My mind was already working out how to move, what to search for, what excuses to make.

“Evelyn,” he said suddenly, snapping me back.

“What?”

“Can you get ready? We’ll leave together in twenty minutes.”

I looked down at my nightgown, realizing how ridiculous I must’ve looked standing there while reporters outside probably caught a glimpse through the gate.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll change.”

I walked past him, heading up the stairs. Clara was sitting at the top step, hugging her knees. She must’ve been listening.

“Mom, why are there reporters outside?” she asked quietly.

I stopped halfway. “It’s about your dad’s work,” I said. “They just want stories. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is he in trouble?”

I hesitated. “No. He’ll be fine.”

She nodded, not convinced, and went back to her room.

In mine, I closed the door and leaned against it for a second. The house felt heavy like everything inside it was holding its breath. I went to the closet, pulled out a plain black dress, and started getting ready. My hands were shaking as I zipped up the back.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked calm. Too calm. Like someone pretending nothing was happening.

When I came back downstairs, Alfred was waiting by the door, his phone pressed to his ear again. The police cars outside had moved away, the street almost clear now.

He ended the call when he saw me and gave a small nod, like we were business partners meeting a deadline. “Let’s go.”

I grabbed my bag, slipping my phone inside. Madeline’s last words echoed in my head again—just get something.

“Clara!” I called out. “We’ll be back soon. Stay inside.”

She peeked out from her room and nodded.

Alfred opened the door, the cool air rushing in as we stepped outside. He placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the car, and for the first time in years it felt strange his touch, the way he still pretended we were a team.

We got into the car without another word. The driver pulled out slowly.

As we turned down the street, I caught sight of one of the reporters still standing by the gate, camera in hand, pointing it straight at the car. The flash went off twice before we were out of view.

Alfred muttered under his breath. “Lawson better clean this up fast.”

I didn’t reply. My eyes stayed on the road ahead, my thoughts already racing through what I’d need to do when we got to the office how to move without any suspicion, how to get to what the Bureau needed without letting Alfred know.

I had started this, and now there was no turning back.