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Chapter 48 - CHAPTER XLVIII

The Bello estate shook with noise.Boots thundered against the marble floors. Radios cracked. Doors slammed.

But Elara and Khalid moved like shadows through the back corridors.

She gripped the key her mother had given her. It pressed into her palm so hard it left a mark.

"The study," she whispered.

Khalid nodded. "Third floor. East wing. Hurry."

The study was just as she remembered.Dark mahogany shelves. Rows of books no one read. A desk heavy enough to bury secrets under.

But she was not here for memory.

She dropped to her knees and pressed against the carpet. Her fingers traced until she found it—the hollow echo beneath the floorboards.

Khalid helped her pry it open. Dust and shadows rose.

And there it was.

A steel lockbox.

Small. Ordinary. Heavy.

Elara slid the key into the slot.Her hands trembled.

For a second, she thought it would not turn. Then—A soft click.

The lid creaked open.

Inside were files. Stacks of contracts. Receipts. Photos. Scans of medical reports. Letters written in her father's hand.

And one more thing.

A slim leather journal. Black. Untitled.

Khalid began flipping through the contracts. "These are payouts. Bribes. Death settlements. Families silenced with money. Every signature leads back to him."

Elara reached for the journal. Her chest tightened as she opened the first page.

It was not her father's writing.

It was her mother's.

The entries were short.Precise.A record of meetings, hushed calls, secret transfers.

He told them Amara was unstable. I knew it was a lie, but I did not speak.

He paid the judge tonight. They will call it suicide.

Elara asked me why the house feels so heavy. I told her to sleep. She is too young to see the ghosts.

Her breath caught. She turned the pages faster.

Then she froze.

One entry stood out, written years earlier.

He promised them she would not live past seventeen. He said she was only born to prove a point. He laughed when he said she would bury herself.

Elara felt the air leave her lungs.

Seventeen.

That was the year she had almost drowned. The accident that was never an accident.

She whispered, "He planned me dead from the start."

Khalid looked up sharply."Elara—"

But his words were cut off by the sound of voices outside the door.

Guards. Searching.

Elara snapped the journal shut. She stuffed the papers into a bag, shoved the lockbox back under the floor, and replaced the carpet.

Khalid grabbed her hand. "Window. Now."

They pushed it open and climbed onto the ledge. The night air slapped their faces.

Below, the garden stretched wide, lit by harsh spotlights. Guards moved in formation.

Khalid muttered, "We jump."

Elara shook her head. "Too far. We wait."

The voices inside grew louder. The door rattled.

Elara's pulse thundered.

Then, from the far corner of the hall, an explosion ripped through the mansion. Smoke billowed. Screams erupted.

The guards broke formation, running toward the chaos.

Elara and Khalid used the distraction. They scaled down the trellis, feet hitting the ground hard.

They ran.

Back at the safe house, NUMA was already waiting.She pulled the bag from Elara's hands and dumped the files onto the table.

Her eyes widened. "This is everything. This is the Council's spine."

Elara set the journal down beside them. Her voice was low.

"There is more. My mother kept records. She knew everything. And she wrote it all down."

NUMA scanned a page, then whistled. "Your mother was not a bystander. She was a witness. A conspirator. And now—her testimony may be the final nail."

Khalid looked uneasy. "If we use this, she will burn with him."

Elara's expression hardened. "She already chose her punishment. I will not carry it for her."

The room fell into silence.Until Fatima entered, her face pale.

"They are on the streets," she said. "The protests. They are calling your father a murderer. A tyrant. They want answers."

NUMA smirked. "Good. Then we feed them answers."

Elara stared at the journal. Her mother's words burned like fire in her hands.

She whispered, "Then let the house collapse."

Later that night, when everyone had gone to sleep, Elara sat alone by the window.

She opened the journal again.

One line at the very back.

A final warning. If you are reading this, it means I failed. The Council will never let the story end with him. If you think his death will end the silence, you are wrong. There are others. Older. Hidden. Watching.

Elara's blood froze.

She closed the journal.

In the dark, her reflection in the glass looked like her mother's.

And she knew her father was only the beginning.

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