The journal was hidden where Elara would never have thought to look.
Not in a safe. Not in a vault.
But inside a hollowed legal tome on corporate succession law, its spine worn from years of deliberate neglect. Jonah Vale had found it years ago, recognized its significance, and returned it quietly to its place.
Waiting.
Elara sat alone in the temporary workspace long after Caleb had left for the night, the city reduced to a low thrum beyond concrete walls. The journal lay open before her, its pages yellowed, ink pressed deep with a hand that wrote decisively—even when unsure.
Her father's handwriting.
She traced the margin with her finger before reading.
If this is ever found by anyone but Elara, then I failed.
Her breath stilled.
The entries were not daily musings. They were records—dates, names, decisions cross-referenced with emotional weight. A ledger of blood disguised as ink.
Seraphina's name appeared early.
Not as a villain.
As a warning.
Her loyalty is inherited, not chosen.
Elara swallowed.
Page after page revealed what had never been spoken aloud: how Seraphina's father had nearly dismantled the company decades earlier through quiet coercion; how Marcus Hale had been installed not as a safeguard, but as a leash; how the board had always been a battlefield disguised as governance.
And then—
If they ever move against Elara, it will be because they believe she is alone.
Elara closed her eyes.
They were wrong.
She turned the page.
The truth will not protect her. Only preparation will.
There was a final entry, written weeks before her father's death.
I see the fracture widening. I don't know if I'll have time to seal it. If she reads this, then they've already chosen to erase her. That means she must do what I could not.
Burn the illusion.
Elara shut the journal.
For the first time since the vote, grief rose—sharp, uncontained. Not for what she had lost, but for what her father had carried alone.
She pressed her palms to the table, grounding herself.
"They underestimated you," she whispered. "But you prepared me."
Her phone vibrated.
A single message from Caleb.
She's countering. Quietly. Expect pressure within 24 hours.
Elara typed back without hesitation.
Good. I'm ready.
She stood, sliding the journal carefully into her bag.
Blood and ink.
Legacy and betrayal.
They had thought the Ravenscroft line ended with her removal.
They were wrong.
It was only shedding its skin.