Chapter 4 - The Pivot
"He... he wrote that?" Monica whispered, the color completely draining from her face. "About his own daughter?"
"About a ghost," I corrected, locking the phone screen and sliding it back into my pocket. "Because for the last seven years, that's what they thought I was. They thought I was sitting in some dark room somewhere, broken and insignificant, waiting for them to throw me another scrap of pity."
Monica sank slowly onto the edge of the living room sofa, her posture collapsing under the weight of the revelation. The fierce loyalty she had held toward our parents—the obedience that made her sit quietly at graduation while Dad toasted her brilliance at my expense—was fracturing right before my eyes.
"What are we going to do, Jules?" she asked, her voice small and broken. "If you don't sign the affidavit, Dad is going to lose everything—the house, the company, his freedom. But if you do sign it..."
"I go to prison," I finished for her. "For twenty years. For a crime I didn't commit, orchestrated by the man who told sixty people I would never amount to anything."
"I didn't know," Monica said, her voice cracking as she looked up at me, tears pooling in her eyes. "Jules, I swear to God, I didn't know about the shell company. Dad told me you cut ties because you were bitter and unstable. He told me you didn't want anything to do with us."
I studied her face, looking for the girl who had lowered her eyes to her plate while our father humiliated me. She looked terrified, exhausted, and utterly shattered by the realization that her entire life had been built on a foundation of parental manipulation.
"I believe you, Monica," I said quietly.
She blinked, surprised. "You do?"
"You were always the golden child, but you were just as blind as I was," I replied, walking over to the window to watch the rain streak across the glass. "You believed his stories because it was easier than looking at the truth. But the truth is finally here."
"So what's your next move?" Monica asked, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, a spark of resolve finally mixing with her fear. "You can't just hide out in Portland forever. If the feds have the indictment, they're going to come looking for you."
I turned around slowly, a cold, calculated smile touching the corners of my lips—the exact same smile I had worn the night I walked out of Lorenzo’s Italian Grill.
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"Hide?" I said softly. "Who said anything about hiding? They wanted a mastermind for their shell company, Monica. It's time I finally lived up to their expectations."
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