We didn't sleep that night.
War wasn't something you walked into with your eyes closed.
James and I stood in front of the giant touchscreen map that showed every Windsor-controlled company, every shell corporation, every black site they used to bury secrets.
"Phase one starts now," he said, tapping the glass.
Three red dots blinked.
> One: Redwood Heights — shut down and exposed.
Two: London Core Bank — their laundering hub.
Three: Windsor Media Group — the voice that twisted the public.
"Your father built an empire out of deception," I said. "Let's use the truth to break it."
James smiled grimly. "With pleasure."
---
We released the first leak at dawn.
A heavily redacted document of the Redwood experiments hit a whistleblower site — timed with a message from an anonymous source:
> "They silenced the woman who tried to protect her child. But they didn't kill the truth."
Within minutes, it was trending.
Windsor's lawyers scrambled. The media swarmed.
And Johnathan Windsor?
He looked out the same penthouse window he'd always looked down from — now forced to look up at a world turning against him.
---
By noon, two of his partners publicly resigned.
By evening, shareholders started pulling out of the group.
And we were just getting started.
While James's team secured another dump of evidence, I met quietly with a journalist from The London Tribune.
Her name was Margot Blaine — sharp, bold, and fearless.
"This story is fire," she said, scanning the papers I gave her. "If I run this… they'll come after you."
"They already did," I said. "I'm still here."
Margot smiled. "Then let's burn the rest of them."
We agreed to release the story in 48 hours.
It would include my mother's journal, Richard's confession, and the Windsor contracts.
> It would end everything.
Or so we thought.
---
Back at the bunker, James was standing over a secure server, brow furrowed.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Something's wrong," he muttered. "The bank accounts—Windsor's laundering nodes—they're vanishing. One by one."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean someone inside our system is erasing them before we can copy the data."
I felt a cold chill run through me. "You're saying there's a mole?"
He didn't answer. Just typed faster.
Then—click. A locked server popped up.
Password protected. Deeply encrypted.
And tagged with one name.
> C.R. Systems
James stared at it. "That's Cameron Rhodes."
My breath caught.
"Your CTO?" I asked.
"He's worked with me for ten years," James said slowly. "He helped build this network."
"Then he had access to everything."
Before we could say more, the lights in the bunker dimmed.
The emergency system buzzed.
> Unauthorized access detected. Firewall breach.
James cursed. "He's taking the backup files."
"How do we stop him?"
"There's only one way."
---
We jumped into the corridor and stormed toward the server wing.
James keyed in a security override.
Inside, Cameron Rhodes stood at the mainframe — startled but not surprised.
"You figured it out," he said calmly.
"Why?" James barked. "I gave you everything."
"And in return," Cameron said, "I gave your father everything you built."
James lunged at him, but I grabbed his arm.
"Don't," I said. "That's what he wants. He wants you angry. Stupid. Like your father."
James shook with fury, but he stopped.
Cameron smiled faintly. "You were never going to win, James. This world belongs to men like Johnathan. All you've done is delay him."
James stared him down. "No, Cameron. What I've done is record everything you just said."
Cameron's eyes narrowed.
Behind us, one of James's guards stepped forward — holding up a tiny recorder.
"This goes to the press," James said, stepping closer. "You just became the new poster boy for corporate treason."
Cameron's mask cracked.
But we didn't give him time to respond.
James had him restrained and removed within minutes.
---
Back in the war room, I sat beside James, both of us drained but still burning.
"We were almost too late," I said.
"But we're still ahead," he replied. "Now we go faster. Stronger."
I nodded, then looked at him.
"You okay?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
"No," he said. "But I will be… once this is over."
He reached for my hand.
I held it tightly.
Not as a promise.
But as a vow.
---