He still thought I was fragile.
Good.
Because at exactly 8:00 a.m., three things happened simultaneously.
First:
My attorney filed an emergency petition freezing all discretionary transfers tied to Vale Holdings.
Second:
An anonymous package containing hospital audio recordings arrived at the corporate ethics division.
And third…
every board member at Vale Holdings received an encrypted email containing copies of the DNR paperwork my father signed while discussing my death as a financial advantage.
By 8:17, my father’s phone began exploding.
By 8:32, the company’s lead counsel resigned.
By 8:41, financial crime investigators requested immediate access to company records.
And at 9:03…
Victor Vale finally realized something was wrong.
He stormed into my hospital room pale with fury, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass rattled.
“What did you do?”
I looked up calmly from my bed.
“Recovering.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I think attempted murder for profit is expensive.”
Celia stood frozen behind him, her makeup unable to hide the panic draining through her face.
My father stepped toward me.
For one terrifying second, I thought he might actually hit me.
Instead he hissed:
“You ungrateful little bitch.”
There it was.
