Chapter 3 Thirty-Five Million Truth

I spent the entire night sitting in front of the computer in my study.

I did not confront anyone. I did not call Astrid and scream. Instead, I pulled up the internal sales system for Highgrove Estates under Simmons Inc.

Based on the angle of the river view outside the window in Jasper's photos and the height of the floor, it took me less than ten minutes to pinpoint the exact address. Lot 9, Section A, Highgrove Estates.

In the owner's name field, it clearly wrote: Jasper Henderson.

The purchase date was six months ago. Thirty-five million, paid in full.

Thirty-five million.

Astrid might have been a VP, but her salary and dividends would never have allowed her to produce that amount of cash without raising suspicion. Unless she had tampered with the company's project funds.

My fingers flew across the keyboard as I logged into the company's internal financial audit system.

As the sole heir of Simmons Inc., I had the highest level of access.

Tracing through the Southside Redevelopment Initiative that Astrid had been in charge of, I found it exactly as I expected. Funds had been siphoned away through a network of carefully hidden shell companies.

Staring at the dense rows of data, I felt my heart go completely cold.

Astrid did not just cheat on me. She had been draining me dry to feed that bastard.

…

By dawn, I closed the computer and backed up all the evidence to an encrypted cloud drive.

Astrid had messaged last night saying she was in Oln. But she'd likely actually be cuddling in her lover's arms.

Since they thought I was so lofty, it was only fair that I went to see for myself just how well my wife was keeping the underprivileged student I had sponsored—in a villa my family had developed.

…

As I drove the Panamera out of the garage, the morning wind brushed against my face, and I found that I almost wanted to laugh.

I thought back to that summer after his freshman year, when Jasper had arrived in Millhaven dragging a worn backpack, standing awkwardly at the gates of my villa.

I had taken him by the hand, brought him out to buy new clothes, and arranged the best guest room for him.

Late one night, he had gone to the kitchen in just a tank top and shorts to get water. It was then that he ran into Astrid, who had also been there.

In that livestream, he had said that was where their love began.

Of course it was.

One was a woman who had risen through her husband's family; the other was a poor boy lifted up by a wealthy benefactor. Faced with this overwhelming wealth, their greed and inferiority had resonated in a strange harmony.

They thought I did not understand hardship, so they decided to make me understand by forcing their version of it onto me.

…

The car drove smoothly into Highgrove Estates.

Security here was tight, but my license plate was registered at the highest developer VIP level. The barrier lifted immediately, and the guard even saluted me.

I parked along a tree-lined road about 30 feet from Lot 9, Section A.

Through the car window, I quietly watched the luxurious standalone villa. It did not take long before two figures appeared by the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor.

It was a picture of serene domestic bliss.

Astrid wore a loose white maternity dress, her belly already visibly rounded. Jasper stood beside her in a gray set of loungewear, holding a delicate porcelain bowl.

The once dark, gaunt boy had been well cared for. His complexion was now fair. His features had grown refined. There was even a well-fed softness to him.

With a silver spoon, he scooped up a mouthful of soup, blew on it gently, and fed it to Astrid with careful tenderness.

Astrid said something in a coy tone. Jasper set the bowl aside, reached out to pinch her nose, then bent down and pressed his ear against her swollen belly, his face breaking into a foolish, unguarded smile I had never once seen before.

I sat in the car, separated by a layer of tinted glass, watching my wife as another man listened to the heartbeats of the twins inside her.

It felt as though an invisible hand had seized my heart and squeezed hard, so hard that even breathing seemed to carry a faint taste of blood.