Chapter 2

America Holland POV:

I took a cab to the Holland Industries headquarters on West Elm Street.

The building looked abandoned. The glass doors were plastered with yellow notices of default from three different debt agencies. The Crawford Enterprises private security logo was already taped over the main card reader.

A security guard I had never seen before stepped in front of the revolving door.

"Building is under asset lockdown, ma'am," he said. "You cannot enter."

"I am America Holland," I said. "This property belongs to the Holland Trust until a judge orders an eviction. Step aside."

"Mr. Crawford gave strict orders that nobody enters without Miss Rose's authorization," the guard said.

The sound of high heels clicked against the marble tiles inside the lobby. Khloe Rose appeared through the glass. She wore an ivory Chanel suit and carried a champagne flute in her hand.

"Let her in, Officer Davis," Khloe said with a bright smile. "America is family, after all."

The guard pulled open the heavy glass door.

Khloe stepped forward with her arms open, leaning in as if to hug me. I took one step backward. Her arms dropped, but her smile did not fade.

"Why are you so hostile, America?" she asked innocently. "Caden gave me full operational authority over Holland Industries starting this morning. We are incorporating all your legacy databases into my new platform."

I pushed past her and walked toward the private elevator.

My father's top-floor office had already been ransacked. Cardboard boxes filled with technical manuals were piled in the center of the room. His family photos were thrown upside down into a black trash bag.

I walked toward the bookshelf behind the walnut desk. I moved the third volume of the 1984 IEEE Engineering Standards. Behind it sat a hidden steel biometric panel.

I pressed my right thumb against the red glass scanner. The green light flashed twice. A mechanical click echoed through the quiet office. The steel safe door swung open.

Inside lay the black solid-state hard drive containing the Holland proprietary cryptographic core.

Next to it lay a crumpled white paper business card. The card read: "Apex Recovery Services – High-Risk Collections." Scrawled on the back in blue ink was a handwritten note: "Job: Darvin Holland. Client: K.R. Cash on delivery."

I slid the hard drive and the card into my coat pocket.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. Caden Crawford stood in the doorway, his charcoal wool coat open, his eyes burning with cold rage. Khloe followed right behind him.

"Step away from that safe, America," Caden ordered. "Hand over whatever you just took from Crawford property right now."

Caden walked into the office with the measured pace of a man who owned the air everyone else breathed.

"Your father's estate is insolvent," Caden said, his tone dismissive. "Every physical and digital asset in this building belongs to my holding company."

"You have no right to anything here," I said evenly.

Caden let out a short, irritated breath. "Do you think sneaking in here to transfer assets will change the fact that your father is a complete failure? You are just as pathetic as he is."

Khloe stepped forward, touching Caden's arm with delicate fingers. "Caden, please don't be too harsh on her. She probably came here to steal the original architecture so she could sell it to our competitors. She is broke, after all. She might be trying to salvage some quick cash for herself."

Caden's jaw clenched. "Empty your pockets on the desk," he ordered. "Or I will have the guards search you physically. I am trying to spare you the public humiliation, America. Just hand over the drive, and I might consider not sending you to jail for corporate theft."

I looked at the sharp lines of his face. For seven years, I gave up my own engineering career to let him shine. When his mother had cancer, I slept on the hospital cot next to her bed for four months. Every single sacrifice I made evaporated into thin air.

But I felt no sorrow. A strange sense of weightlessness washed over me. The invisible chains that bound me to this man snapped one by one. Now, I only felt a sharp anticipation for his ruin.

"You want to search me?" I asked. I reached into my left pocket and pulled out an old, scratched flash drive containing my college thesis from ten years ago. I threw it onto the desk.

It landed near his shoe.

"Take it," I said. "That is all I brought with me."

Khloe lunged forward and grabbed the cheap plastic drive, clutching it to her chest.

"Thank you, Caden," Khloe whispered, her eyes shining with fake gratitude. "Now our launch can proceed without any delays."

She turned toward me, offering a sympathetic look. "America, if you need a job after the bankruptcy settles, I can hire you as a junior copywriter at our new subsidiary. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Keep your hands to yourself," I said, stepping away from her. "And do not ever pretend we are equals."

I smiled faintly inside. The real master drive and the bloody evidence were safely hidden in the secret lining of my coat. They were too stupid to tell the difference.

Caden's face turned dark.

"You are a miserable, ungrateful woman," Caden snapped, furious that I wasn't begging. He pulled out his gold phone. "Marcus, cancel all secondary black cards issued under America Crawford's name immediately. Revoke her security access to the residential penthouse and the upstate lodge."

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

He looked at me with absolute arrogance. "Let's see how long your stubborn pride lasts when you have to pay for a motel room in cash. When you are cold and hungry, you will crawl back on your knees and beg for Khloe's forgiveness."

I picked up my house key from the floor.

"Make sure you attend the court hearing on Friday morning, Caden," I said quietly. "Do not send your junior associates. Be there yourself."

I turned around and walked out of the room.

"You will be on your knees before Friday, America!" Caden shouted after me from the doorway. "You have nothing left!"

I did not break my stride. I walked down the emergency stairwell, avoiding the elevators and the security team. I pushed open the heavy ground-floor fire door and stepped into the cold afternoon air.

I took out my personal burner phone and dialed Joelle Price.

"Joelle," I said.

"Did you get the files?" Joelle asked.

"I have the master encryption core," I said. "And I have something much more dangerous. A business card from Apex Recovery Services found inside my father's private safe. There is a handwritten note on the back linking Khloe Rose directly to the thugs who visited my father's warehouse this morning."

Joelle went completely silent for five seconds.

"That turns a civil debt dispute into corporate extortion and involuntary manslaughter," Joelle said, her voice turning sharp and deadly. "Bring the card to my office right now. I am hiring a private forensic technician to preserve the fingerprints on that paper."

"I am on my way," I said.