Chapter 151 You Are Not a Murderer

Chapter 151 You Are Not a Murderer

Stephanie's POV

"Why was she arrested?"

Malcolm let out a soft sigh. "Embezzlement."

"Embezzlement?" I froze completely.

There was no way I could reconcile that word with the image of that woman in my mind.

In my memories, she always wore a faded old coat, washed so many times it had turned nearly white. Her hair was always pulled back neatly, not a strand out of place. When she spoke, she'd bend slightly at the waist, her voice so gentle it was like she was coaxing a child.

She'd buy candy for the orphanage kids. During holidays, she'd bake cookies herself and hand them out to everyone.

In every memory I had of that orphanage, she'd always been the picture of loving kindness—always thinking of the children, never complaining about their noise.

"How could that be…" I murmured. "She seemed so kind."

Malcolm sighed again, his tone heavy with irony. "That's what they say—you can know someone's face but never their heart. Back then, she was famous in our little town. Everyone praised her for being soft-hearted and kind. Even people from out of town knew that if you couldn't afford to raise a kid, she was the one to go to. She'd always take them in."

"But from the day she started working at that orphanage until the day she was arrested, they found she'd embezzled a total of five million dollars."

I gasped sharply.

Five million dollars. That was no small amount.

This town was already remote and isolated. The orphanage's annual funding was pitiful—barely enough to cover day-to-day expenses.

Yet somehow, under those tight conditions, she'd quietly siphoned off that much money.

I couldn't even begin to imagine what she must have done to those already impoverished children to squeeze that kind of profit from them.

"What exactly happened?" My voice trembled uncontrollably.

Malcolm glanced around warily, then leaned closer to our table and lowered his voice.

"About two years after your family left town, a black ship showed up off the coast. Our town's pretty lax with oversight, so illegal ferries sneak in and out all the time, smuggling people across borders. It just so happened the governor came through on an inspection that time and caught the ship red-handed."

He gestured briefly with his hand.

"When they opened the cargo hold, it was packed wall-to-wall with kids. Fifty of them."

Fifty children!

My stomach twisted violently. My vision went dark around the edges, and a wave of nausea hit me hard.

I could almost picture it: the pitch-black, airless hold, crammed full of children, every pair of eyes filled with terror and confusion.

"They were… trying to sell the orphanage kids?"

"Exactly." Malcolm nodded. "Illegal child trafficking. And they specifically targeted the smart ones, the ones with good physical condition. What they were being shipped out to do, the people on that ship wouldn't say, and we couldn't get any information out of them."

He paused, dropping his voice even lower.

"But I've heard some rumors through the grapevine. That woman had been secretly supplying children to wealthy people all over the place. The ones with top-tier health and sharp minds? They were kept as living organ reserves. Pretty girls with docile personalities? They'd be sent off to rich people to be raised specifically for breeding heirs."

My head rang with a deafening buzz, my mind going completely blank.

A violent wave of dizziness shot up from my feet. I gripped the edge of the table desperately just to stay upright.

I couldn't reconcile the two images: the gentle teacher who'd once publicly accused me of being a murderer after Yasmin's death, sobbing hysterically—and the monster who treated orphans like merchandise, selling them off for profit.

They were the same person, yet split into two completely different faces, separated by a chasm of evil I'd never seen.

"It was because they caught that ship and those kids in the act," Malcolm continued. "The police followed the trail and dug deeper, and that's when they discovered she'd embezzled five million dollars during all those years running the orphanage. And that's just what they could prove. A lot of the smaller transactions were impossible to trace completely."

"Later, during the trial, she confessed that she'd been sorting the kids in the orphanage into tiers from the start. The ones with poor health, disabilities, or developmental issues—she treated them like livestock, barely keeping them alive. No one monitored the town's orphanage, so even if some of them died, no one would ask questions."

"But the 'premium' kids she handpicked? They got separate accommodations, good food, good care, tutoring—everything."

"That's how she made her fortune. Minimal costs for the 'low-quality' kids, inflated expenses for the 'high-quality' ones. Every dollar in between went straight into her pocket."

My nails dug deep into my palms without me realizing it, my fingertips turning white.

"I heard that before she got caught, she'd already sold off two kids. Back then, demand among the wealthy was low, so she was extra cautious. But as she got older and retirement loomed, and the higher-ups were about to bring in someone new to take over, the black market suddenly exploded with demand. That's when she took the risk—tried to move fifty kids all at once, hoping to make one last big score."

"She got what she deserved. She just happened to run into the governor's inspection and got caught red-handed."

I stared down at a crooked scratch carved into the table, feeling like the world was spinning.

My mind immediately went to Yasmin.

Yasmin had been the best kid in that orphanage.

Quiet, obedient, smart, perceptive—she picked up everything quickly and easily, never caused trouble or threw tantrums.

That woman had raised her with her own hands, taught her to read and write, sent her to a good preschool, treated her with special care and endless attention.

I'd always thought it was genuine love and tenderness.

But now I finally understood—it wasn't love at all.

It was an investment.

Yasmin had been her most valuable, most profitable product.

The smarter she was, the more obedient, the more likable—the higher her price on the black market.

That warm, nurturing orphanage had never been a safe haven for children. It was her breeding ground. Those innocent kids had been nothing but merchandise to her from the very beginning.

A sour, bitter emotion surged up through my nose, impossible to suppress.

I lowered my head, burying my face in the pile of fries in front of me, hiding behind the rising steam. But my shoulders still trembled faintly, beyond my control.

Malcolm turned to look at me, silent for a long moment before finally speaking softly. "Stephanie, you're not a murderer."

I sniffled, my voice breaking. "I know… but Yasmin still died because of me. If I hadn't been so careless that day, if I'd paid attention to the tide, she never would have drowned."

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "Maybe not. Things might not have happened the way you think they did."

I snapped my head up, staring at him through blurred, tear-filled eyes, completely stunned.