The headlines hit like a detonation.
By the time I walked into the office, copies of the Financial Daily Journal were already scattered across desks, their front pages screaming the words I'd dreaded and hoped for in equal measure:
"STERN FAMILY UNDER FIRE: FRAUD ALLEGATIONS ROCK FINANCIAL SECTOR"
Underneath was Daniel's byline. Black ink, sharp and damning, splashed across the city before the Sterns could bury the trail. He'd done it.
And now, the fire was spreading.
Phones rang non-stop, clipped voices spilling fragments of panic. Brokers were calling clients, analysts snapping at assistants, compliance officers huddling in glass-walled rooms like generals at war. Everyone knew the Sterns. Everyone had money tied to them, one way or another. The mere suggestion of fraud sent shockwaves through every corridor that dealt in risk and return.
I caught whispers as I passed: "Did you see the Cayman transfers?" …
"If the Sterns fall, half the market's exposed…" …
"Christ, and the daughter — do you think she knew?"
That last one made my jaw tighten. Amelia's name wasn't in the article — Daniel had kept his word — but speculation was already spilling into the gaps. Rumour was as corrosive as fact.
When I reached my desk, my inbox was a battlefield. Messages from clients, colleagues, even strangers. Subject lines blared: NEED CLARIFICATION IMMEDIATELY… CALL ME URGENTLY … WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR US?
And beneath the noise, one email stood out. No subject line. No sender name, just a bunch of numbers and symbols. Just a single line of text in the body:
You shouldn't have done this.
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Amelia's POV
The newspaper lay open on the kitchen table, its headline screaming back at me. Black letters, sharp and merciless: "STERN FAMILY UNDER FIRE."
My family. My name, even if it wasn't printed there, it lived in every line.
I'd read the article three times, tracing each damning paragraph until the words blurred. Offshore accounts. Fraudulent transfers. Trusts built like cages. Daniel had exposed it all. And now the world knew.
My phone buzzed against the table again, rattling against the wood. I didn't look at the screen. I already knew. My parents. Graham. Maybe all of them, one after the other, their voices demanding explanations, demanding loyalty, demanding I stay blind.
I let it ring until the sound died. Then it started again. And again. Each time, the silence afterward felt heavier, like a warning.
I shoved the paper away and stood, pacing the length of Brandon's living room. His place was neat, almost impersonal — a sofa too stiff to sink into, books stacked with military precision. The only trace of him was his jacket slung over a chair, and I clung to that like proof he'd come back. He'd said he had to keep his head down at work, act normal, or someone might connect us. I knew he was right. But the emptiness pressed in like a weight I couldn't shake.
The phone rang again. This time I grabbed it, my throat closing when I saw the name on the screen: Graham.
My grip tightened until my knuckles ached. I could almost hear his voice, smooth and patient, the same voice that had talked me through contracts and reassured me that everything was safe. The same voice that had been lying the entire time.
I couldn't answer. Not now. Not ever. With a sharp breath, I tossed the phone onto the sofa cushions and stepped back like it might burn me.
At the window, the street looked so ordinary it hurt. A woman tugging her dog along. A delivery van blocking the curb. Cyclists weaving between cars. No one down there knew my life was caving in. No one could see the ruin under the headline.
Brandon had promised he'd be back by lunchtime. I checked the clock. 10:42. The hours stretched ahead, slow and suffocating.
I wrapped my arms around myself and whispered, low and steady, Just hold on. He'll come back. Just hold on.
But the phone kept ringing.
By the time Brandon's key turned in the lock, my nerves were strung so tight I felt like the smallest sound could snap me. I stayed where I was on the sofa, arms wrapped around my knees, the newspaper folded neatly on the coffee table like a weapon I'd chosen not to touch again.
When he stepped in, I drank in the sight of him — the familiar set of his shoulders, the careful way he shut the door behind him, as though trying not to disturb me. For a second, just seeing him eased something in me.
"You're back," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Are you OK?" He crossed the room and sat opposite me, his expression unreadable. That alone put me on edge. Brandon wasn't the type to hedge or dance around things. If he looked like he was choosing his words, it meant I wasn't going to like them.
"What is it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He hesitated, then pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. The screen was open on an email. No sender, no subject line. Just a single sentence:
You shouldn't have done this.
For a moment I couldn't breathe. The walls pressed in, my chest tightening like a fist had closed around it.
"They know," I whispered. My hands were shaking before I realized it, my pulse roaring in my ears. "God, Brandon, they know already. It's them. It has to be them."
"Amelia —"
I shot to my feet, the words spilling out before he could catch them.
"Do you understand what this means? They're warning you. They're watching us. You gave them no time to spin it, and now they'll come straight for the source. They'll come for you."
My voice cracked on the last word.
He stood, reaching for me, but I pulled back, pacing the narrow strip of carpet like I could outrun the panic clawing its way up my throat.
"I don't even know what they're capable of. Never had known. And now —" I broke off, swallowing hard, but the pressure wouldn't let up. Tears burned hot in my eyes, blurring the room.
"Now it's real. They're not going to let this go. They'll destroy anyone who gets in their way, and you've just put yourself right in their sights."
My control, the brittle mask I'd held onto all morning, shattered in a rush of fear and fury. I hated that they could do this to me — reduce me to panic with a single line of text. I hated that Brandon had walked into their line of fire for me.
And most of all, I hated how much it terrified me to think of what they might do to him.