All Chapters of My Father’s Enemy, My Obsession : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Riley lasts until eight‑thirty before she breaks.Ava insisted she didn’t want company tonight beyond a movie, a blanket, and the right to ugly‑cry without witnesses. Cass was on a data bender, muttering about tags and ghosts, promising updates.Riley did what she did best: stocked Ava’s fridge, bullied her into drinking water, tucked her into bed with her laptop, and a ridiculous rom‑com.Then she left.Now she’s on a barstool two neighborhoods away, nursing a whiskey she doesn’t particularly like and a grudge she likes even less.The place is dim and loud enough that no one looks at her twice. Exposed brick, low lights, a wall of bottles that could probably fuel a small war.She stares at the amber in her glass, trying to decide which part of her wants to throw it more: at Damian, at Vince, or at the nearest wall.The bartender—a tall woman with sleeve tattoos and sympathetic eyes—tops her off without asking.“Bad day?” she asks.“Bad… everything,” Riley says. “Do you have anything

By morning, Ava’s apartment feels like a crime scene.The envelope, the pages, the innocuous USB drive—all of it - sit in a neat, hateful pile on the kitchen island, exactly where she and Riley left it after Cass signed off with that final warning.Someone is playing god with both your lives.Riley finally crashed on the couch around three, one arm flung over her eyes, empty coffee cups, and pastry bags scattered around like after‑party debris.Ava didn’t sleep.She showered. Changed. Stood at the window and watched the city crawl through its pre‑dawn motions—delivery trucks, dog walkers, the occasional cab.Now, as the first real light smears gray over the buildings, she stands at the counter with her phone in her hand.Damian’s name stares back at her from the top of her messages.The last thread is a mix of logistics and things she can’t bear to reread. Photos. A stupid meme he sent at one a.m. two nights ago about a corrupt councilman who made her snort into her pillow. A half‑typ

Nolan doesn’t sleep.He dozes for maybe twenty minutes at his desk around four a.m., chin tucked to his chest, a printout creasing under his forearm, and jerks awake to the soft crick of his own neckThe anomaly is still there when his eyes refocus.Tiny, stubborn, undeniable.By eight, the building is awake. Assistants murmured into phones. Elevators dinging. The regular hum of a company that has no idea its foundations are crawling with ghosts.Nolan rides the private lift up with a folder under his arm and a knot between his shoulder blades.He could wait.He could refine the charts, pull another comparison set, and give Cass more time to strengthen the case.But if there’s one thing he’s learning in this mess, it’s that whoever is playing them is banking on their delay.He pushes Damian’s office door open after a perfunctory knock.Damian is at his desk already, tie on but slightly askew, hair damp like he showered here, not at home. A coffee he hasn’t touched sits cooling within

The car is already waiting when Vince steps out of the building’s private garage.A long black limo, windows tinted darker than the law technically allows, idling in the far corner where the cameras don’t quite reach.His driver opens the rear door without a word.“Take a walk,” Vince says.The man hesitates, then nods and disappears into the dim concrete.Vince slides inside.The door shuts, cutting off the last of the garage’s echo.It’s dark in the cabin—privacy glass, polarized enough that even the city’s spill of light barely penetrates. The interior smells faintly of leather and something sharper, like expensive aftershave.For a moment, he thinks he’s alone.Then, the opposite corner of the limo moves.“Vince,” a smooth voice says. “You’re late.”His eyes adjust enough to make out the outline of a man sitting in the shadowed seat, one ankle resting casually on the opposite knee.Vince’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile.“Traffic,” he says. “You know how this city is.”A soft

Ava lasts another twenty minutes.She smiles when she’s supposed to. Nods at a councilman’s joke she doesn’t hear. Let's a photographer position her near her father and a deputy mayor for a shot that will probably end up on some “Power Families” blog.Inside, she’s counting breaths.When Vince moves toward the stage for yet another speech, she leans toward the nearest aide.“I’m feeling a little light‑headed,” she says quietly. “Tell my father I’ve gone to lie down upstairs. I’ll text him.”The aide’s eyes widen with concern; he nods quickly.“Of course, Ms. Moretti,” he says. “Can I get you someone—”“I’ll be fine,” she says.On the far side of the ballroom, Damian is talking to a pair of investors. Or at least pretending to. His date laughs at something one of them says, hand light on his arm.Ava doesn’t let herself look their way again.She threads through the crowd to the side exit, ignoring a flash that catches her profile, and Vince’s aide’s murmured apology that he couldn’t ru