Monica turned around and looked back at the house, where she had lived for years and now she couldn't really believe she was leaving it.
She didn't want to leave.
Not like this.
Not with nothing.
But her heels were already clicking across the floor, echoing hollow and cold. The guards didn't push. They didn't need to.
Her sons followed behind—Jimmy looking like a kicked dog, and Mark, now had no smirk on his face, he wasn't even talking.
At the front door, she stopped.
She turned, just once, taking in the foyer one final time. The chandelier. The staircase. The stained-glass crest above the hallway—Caldwell, it read.
But it didn't belong to her anymore.
Behind her, the estate staff stood like quiet statues, watching.
And at her side, Mr. Parker cleared his throat. "The car is waiting."
Jimmy blinked, coming to a shaky stop just beside his mother. "Wait—where are we even going?"
Parker raised an eyebrow, then stepped down one marble stair, buttoning his jacket.
"To the Royal Crest Hotel," he said. "Two suites. Paid for in advance. For one week only."
"One week?" Mark barked. "Then what?"
Parker's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Then you figure it out—like Genesis had to for fifteen years."
Jimmy looked to Monica, eyes wide, but she didn't answer. She didn't even look at him.
Parker took one step closer. "You'll be under limited surveillance. You'll report to her operations team at the casinos starting tomorrow. Any attempt to forge, hide, or move assets, your hotel becomes a jail cell."
Mark laughed without humor. "Wow. She really planned this down to the damn bone."
Parker didn't flinch. "She planned this like someone who spent fifteen years being told she was powerless. And now she's not."
Jimmy rubbed his face. "We can't live in a hotel. What about our things?"
"Your things," Parker said slowly, "were bought with her inheritance."
Then, coldly: "You're lucky you're walking out with anything."
The doors behind them shut with a dull, final thud.
Monica's shoulders stiffened.
No crown. No keys.
Just the heavy, humiliating truth.
Everything was gone.
And Genesis was the one who took it back.
Then they stepped out of the house, and the heavy double doors closed with a solid thud that made Monica's heart race.
Jimmy moved closer to his mother, standing beside her. "Mom, what about the gold and diamonds? I hope they got to him safely."
Monica was quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod. Even knowing she was still rich didn't bring her any peace. She wanted everything from Genesis—down to the last breath. She didn't want her to own anything. And that thought was eating her alive.
As they neared the car, she turned to Jimmy. "Yes. Takeshi texted me. It arrived. He's back in the States."
Jimmy nodded quickly. "T-that's good, that's good. We don't have to stay at that hotel, right? I don't think it's safe anymore."
Monica nodded again, about to call out to the lawyer who was deep in conversation with nearly a dozen security men—but Mark's voice cut through the air.
"Holy shit."
They both turned.
Mark was staring at them, his face pale like he'd just seen a ghost crawl out of his phone.
Jimmy let out an annoyed sigh. "What is it this time, Mark?"
Mark stepped forward, tense, saying nothing. He simply held out his phone, the screen glowing in his hand.
Jimmy took it, irritated, but when Mark looked up—white as a sheet—his annoyance turned into dread.
Something was wrong.
Jimmy glanced at the screen and hit play.
The voice of a news anchor filled the quiet air.
"Breaking News: A renowned specialist, Dr. Aiden Reeve, affiliated with St. Brielle Memorial Hospital in New York, has been reported missing for three days now."
"But that's not the shocking part."
"Just last night, an anonymous package was delivered to several law enforcement agencies and media outlets, including the FBI's cybercrime division. The contents were disturbing."
The screen showed blurred thumbnails. Hospital rooms. Beds. Unconscious patients.
Young girls.
Assaulted.
Bruises.
Needles.
Panic.
Jimmy's breath caught. Monica's face lost all color.
"Dozens of recorded files, spanning more than fifteen years, show Dr. Reeve drugging and assaulting his patients—many of them underage."
"Sources close to the investigation believe the footage is authentic. Multiple victims have been identified. The FBI believes more will come forward in the coming days."
Jimmy lowered the phone slowly, as if it burned to touch.
"What's more disturbing is that investigators now suspect Dr. Reeve may not have acted alone."
"There's growing concern that this could lead to a larger network of silence—and complicity."
Silence.
Mark swallowed hard, his voice tight. "They… they think he had help."
Monica looked around nervously, her fingers clutching her purse. "They don't know anything. They don't know anything."
Jimmy whispered, "But they could. What if Genesis… what if she told someone? Or... or what if the tapes—what if they have her on one of them?"
"No," Monica snapped. "She wouldn't. She hasn't said a word in fifteen years. She's mute, remember? I'm sure she doesn't even remember a damn thing."
Mark murmured, "She's not mute anymore, Ma. You heard her."
The words dropped like a hammer.
They had all heard her.
Not her voice, exactly, not the one they remembered, but still, it had been her.
Monica's eyes flicked toward the estate gates, her stomach twisting into a knot. "The FBI... they said anonymous package. That means someone sent it."
Mark's jaw tightened as he stepped forward. "You think it was Knight?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
Jimmy ran both hands through his hair, panic crawling up his spine. "But we never touched anyone! It was just that sick bastard and—"
"And we knew," Mark cut in quietly.
Silence.
They had known.
Every time Genesis came back from an "appointment" at that hospital, bruised, dazed, trembling, Monica had looked away. Jimmy had shut the door. Mark had laughed it off.
They knew.
But they didn't care.
And now?
"Authorities have confirmed the FBI is seeking information on Dr. Reeve's whereabouts. Investigators believe he may be in hiding. However, unconfirmed sources say traces of blood were found near his upstate property. The scene is now under federal lockdown."
Monica exhaled sharply and looked to the car. "We need to leave. Now."
Mark whispered, "You think they'll question us?"
"They'll come knocking," Jimmy said. "We were the last people connected to Genesis before we said that she went abroad. Once they see the tapes... they'll connect the dots. They always do."
Monica's eyes were wide—part fury, part fear. "Then we stay quiet. No one talks. No interviews. No press. No comments. We lay low."
But Mark kept staring at the phone. "You think Knight found the stash?"
Jimmy frowned. "What stash?"
Mark slowly turned to him. "The doctor had recordings, right? What if Knight saw one... of his wife?"
Jimmy froze.
"And if Knight found it…"
Monica whispered, "We're fucked."