One Screenshot to Burn an Empire Chapter 11

One Screenshot to Burn an Empire Chapter 11

The word “paralyzed” was a hammer blow, striking Julian and Marcus to their

cores. 1

Marcus swayed, nearly losing his balance.

In an instant, all color drained from Julian’s face.

He stared blankly at the doctor, his lips moving, but no words came out.

The shock left him stunned, hollowed out.

I stood behind them, watching with a storm of emotions.

Not sympathy, not schadenfreude.

Just a cold sense of cosmic justice.

All her life, Eleanor’s favorite weapon was “family honor.” She’d used it to blackmail Julian, to interfere in our lives, to assert her authority.

Now, she had taken that blackmail to its final, terrible conclusion.

She had become a burden Julian could never shake.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

A message from the head of security.

“Boss, I’ve got it. Cassia Shaw left through the estate’s back gate about ten minutes after you and the Don left headquarters.”

“She didn’t take her car. Walked to the intersection and hailed a cab. Also, security found this on the wine cellar staircase.”

Below the message was a photo.

A small, shiny object.

An earring.

Silver, shaped like a snake, studded with red gems.

I recognized it instantly. Cassia was wearing it today.

I had seen it clearly during our confrontation that morning.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Cassia’s earring, found where Eleanor fell.

And after the incident, Cassia had snuck out the back gate on foot.

The chain of evidence was complete.

It wasn’t an accident.

It was attempted murder.

After the family meeting, Cassia knew her fate was sealed. She was desperate.

And just then, an enraged Eleanor had come looking for her.

It was easy to imagine. Eleanor, with her explosive temper, would have insulted and likely attacked Cassia.

And Cassia, pushed to the brink by me, by Julian, by the entire situation-her psychological defenses shattered.

She vented all her rage on the woman who had walked right into her path.

On that surveillance-free staircase, they argued. In the struggle, she pushed Eleanor.

Then she fled in a panic.

That was the truth.

Holding my phone, I walked over to the still-devastated Julian.

I held the photo of the earring up to his face.

“Julian, look closely.”

He slowly raised his head, his vacant gaze falling on the screen.

“This is Cassia’s earring,” I said, my voice cold and deliberate. “It was found where your mother fell.”

Julian’s pupils contracted violently.

As if everything clicked into place, he snatched the phone and stared at the photo.

“Now, do you still think she’s the ‘innocent,’ ‘naive, ‘wrongfully accused’ assistant you claimed she was?”

“She didn’t just want your power and position, Julian. She wanted to take your mother’s life!”

“No… impossible…” he murmured, shaking his head, unable to accept the cruel reality.

“Impossible?” I sneered, snatching the phone back and thrusting the evidence Sloane had sent-about Seraphina and the Volkov family-in his face.

“Then look at this! Open your damn eyes and see the truth!”

“This woman you’ve been protecting was a pawn from the very beginning, sent by your old college flame, Seraphina Volkov, to destroy you and our family!”

“Your ‘setup,’ your ‘coincidences’-it was all a script they wrote!”

“And you, Julian Griffin, are the most foolish, pathetic protagonist in this whole damn play!”

The evidence piled up, one piece after another.

Transaction records, a forged resume, Seraphina’s history, the Volkov family’s money trail…

Each one was a red-hot brand searing Julian’s sanity.

He stared at the files, his face shifting from pale to flushed to ashen.

His body trembled violently with a rage that was turning inward.

“Sera… phina… Volkov…”

He squeezed the name through his clenched teeth.

His eyes blazed with a monstrous hatred.

A hatred for Seraphina and Cassia, but most of all, for himself.

For his foolishness, his blindness, his misguided sense of right and wrong.

Thud.

His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees on the cold, hard floor of the hospital corridor.

He didn’t cry.

But two streams of hot tears slid from his red-rimmed eyes.

This man, so proud his entire life, was utterly broken.

I walked up and looked down at him.

“Julian, I’m only going to ask you one more thing.”

“This family… I built it with my own hands. I will never let it go.”

“As for our marriage…”

I took a document from my bag and tossed it in front of him.

Black and white, the title was a piercing blow.

“Divorce and Syndicate Severance Agreement.”

“I renounce all claims to our shared marital assets, I announced calmly, looking down at him. “All I want is the Griffin family. And my freedom.”