Chapter 196

Chapter 196

Molly glanced at her watch. "If you come down now, it'll count as voluntary surrender. The charges will be lighter. But if you wait for the police to drag you off that ledge, it's a whole different story."

The wind whipped Clara's flimsy dress into a frenzy. Her thin frame trembled violently in the cold, all color draining from her face.

She looked down at the tiny cars and pedestrians far below. A wave of vertigo and terror hit her hard.

"I… I…" Her lips quivered, the suicidal rage from moments ago evaporating instantly.

Molly's mouth curved into a faint, humorless smile. She'd seen through every move.

She knew Clara didn't have the guts to jump. This was all bluster—a desperate gambit to force her hand.

She'd guessed right.

Just then, police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

Clara's legs buckled. She nearly slid off the ledge.

The security guard seized the moment, lunging forward to yank her down from the window frame and pin her to the floor.

"Let me go! You can't do this! I'm pregnant!" Clara thrashed and screamed.

Molly stopped the recording, saved the file, then rose and walked over to where Clara was being restrained. She looked down at her with glacial detachment.

"Clara," she said, her voice cutting like ice, "I've given you so many chances. Don't blame me for this."

She crouched down, meeting Clara's eyes—eyes filled with terror and hatred.

"You'll get what's coming to you!" Clara spat.

Molly ignored the curse. She stood, turning to the arriving officers with a curt nod. "Officers, here's the video evidence and a preliminary assessment of property damage."

She sent the compiled files to the lead officer's device.

The officer reviewed them with a stern expression, then signaled his partner to take the sobbing, hysterical Clara away.

"Ms. Johnson, we'll need you to come down to the station for a statement."

"Of course." Molly nodded, then turned to Layla. "Handle the scene. I'll be back."

As Clara was led into the elevator, her desperate wails faded into silence.

Molly stood alone in the empty office space, exhaling slowly.

Exhaustion washed over her like cold water rising from her feet.

Not physical fatigue—but something deeper. Soul-deep.

 

By the time she finished giving her statement, night had fallen.

Standing outside the police station, Molly's phone buzzed. Dwayne.

She answered. His voice came through the line.

"Molly, are you busy? Come home for dinner tonight. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Molly gazed at the darkening sky, her lips twisting into a bitter smile. "What is it that can't be said over the phone?"

"Oh, it's complicated. Better to talk in person. You haven't been home in ages, and Celeste misses you." He paused, then added, "We're family, after all. Whatever issues we have, we should sit down and talk them out. Don't be so… extreme."

Family?

Molly almost laughed out loud.

They clearly had no idea she'd just had Clara arrested. They wouldn't be this calm otherwise.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, they were clear and resolute—as if she'd made a decision.

"Fine. I'll come home tonight."

It was time to settle this once and for all.

 

That evening, Molly drove alone to the Johnson Villa.

The crystal chandelier above the dining table cast bright light over the elaborate spread of dishes, making the colors look almost unnaturally vivid.

Dwayne sat at the head of the table, glancing at Molly across from him with hesitation written all over his face.

Beside him sat Celeste, one hand resting conspicuously on her slightly rounded belly. Her smile was overbearingly warm, the crow's feet at her eyes bunching together.

"Molly, dear, try this chicken soup. I had the cook simmer it for four or five hours. You work so hard—look how thin you've gotten." Celeste ladled out a bowl and pushed it eagerly toward her.

Molly looked down at the soup but didn't touch it. "Thanks. I'm not hungry."

Celeste's smile stiffened, then grew even brighter. "Your father called you home because he's worried about you. He wanted the family to sit down together, have a nice meal, and talk."

"Talk about what?" Molly lifted her gaze, her eyes coolly sweeping over Dwayne and Celeste. "Just tell me what you want."

Dwayne sputtered, clearly thrown by her bluntness. He coughed and tried to assert his authority as a father. "Is that any way to speak to your elders?"

Molly's lips curved into the faintest smile—one devoid of warmth, only chill.

Celeste's face flashed with embarrassment and anger, but she quickly suppressed it, replacing it with a pitiable expression. She stroked her belly gently. "Molly, you're always so sharp. Actually, besides dinner, we did want to discuss something with you. It's about your little brother."

Molly remained expressionless.

Dwayne picked up the thread, his tone attempting fatherly concern. "Molly, I'm proud of how successful your business is. But a girl—especially running such a big company alone—it's too much pressure, too much responsibility. I'm worried about you."

He paused, watching for a reaction. Seeing none, he continued. "So… here's what I was thinking. Maybe you could transfer fifteen percent of your company shares to me. I'll hold them for safekeeping, and eventually pass them on to your brother. Think of it as a gift from his big sister—a head start in life. It keeps the Johnson family legacy intact, don't you think?"

Celeste chimed in eagerly, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "Exactly, Molly. We're family—blood relatives. What's yours will be your brother's someday anyway, right? This is just planning ahead. And don't worry, with your father holding the shares, they'll stay in the family. No one can touch them. When your brother grows up, he'll remember your generosity. He'll repay you!"

So this was their angle.

Molly listened in silence. Even that faint curve of her lips vanished, leaving only cold, hard ice.

She leaned back slightly, distancing herself from the table.

"You want me to hand over my shares to him?" A low, scornful laugh escaped her throat. "Dream on."

Dwayne's face flushed crimson with rage. He slammed his palm on the table. "Have you lost your mind? I'm your father! You should listen to me!"

"My company is mine," Molly said flatly. "Forget fifteen percent—you won't get even one percent."