Chapter 70

Chapter 70
Elise's POV:

The phone rang while I was sitting on the bench, lost in a daze.

The name flashing on the screen made my fingers pause for a moment—Julian Vance. I answered it.

"Elise?" Julian's voice came through from the other end, carrying a kind of urgency I rarely heard from him. "Are you alright?"

Julian Vance. My father's younger brother. My only living relative. Forty years old, working at the courthouse, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, always speaking with deliberate slowness, like a deep, still pool of water whose bottom you could never quite see.

But at this moment, something beneath the surface of that still pool was churning. I could hear it.

"I'm fine," I said.

My voice was steadier than I'd expected. So steady it surprised even me. Maybe it was because I'd already cried today. Maybe it was because all the shock had been consumed at the school gates. Or maybe—it was just numbness.

"I heard from a friend at the police department," he said. "What Benjamin Miller did... I know everything now."

My fingers tightened around the phone. My knuckles turned white.

"They described the content of the photos to me as well." His tone became heavy, each word seeming to squeeze through gritted teeth. "Elise, I had no idea about any of this. If I'd known Benjamin was that kind of animal, I never would have agreed to let them take care of you back then."

I knew he would say that.

Julian had always carried guilt about me. After my parents died, he had seriously considered adopting me.

But at the time, he had just taken over the law firm my father left behind, and work consumed him. Besides, taking care of a thirteen-year-old girl—he was afraid he wouldn't do it well.

By comparison, the Miller household had a girl my age, which seemed like the better choice.

He came to see me once a month. Brought a few books, a new piece of clothing, or a box of pastries. Asked how I was doing lately, if there were any difficulties at school, if I needed anything.

I always said everything was fine. Didn't need anything. All good.

He would nod, slip me some money—not much, but enough for a girl to buy odds and ends. Then he'd pat my shoulder, say "Uncle will come see you again next time," and turn to leave.

The me back then was too timid. Didn't dare ask for help. Didn't dare speak the truth. Didn't even dare to be certain whether, if he knew, he would believe me, or if he'd think I was some shameless niece seducing her uncle-in-law.

So I chose silence.

And the price of silence was—I stayed in that house for five more years.

But none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that he had made this call now. At my most wretched moment.

"It's not your fault," I said, my throat a bit dry. "You had no choice at the time."

"I had a choice." Julian cut me off. His voice was calm, but I could hear something beneath that calm, something sharp and cutting. "I just chose the easier path. And you paid the price for it."

I didn't want to continue this topic. It was too heavy.

"How is Benjamin now?" I asked, pulling the conversation back into territory I could handle—facts, law, procedural matters.

"Arrested," Julian's tone shifted, becoming crisp, like a judge who had finally found the statute he could rely on. "Multiple charges—distribution of obscene materials, intimidation and threats, unlawful restraint—the police are compiling the evidence. With what he's done, a ten-year sentence won't be a problem."

Ten years.

I chewed on those numbers. Benjamin was forty-seven this year. If he served ten years in prison, he'd be fifty-seven when he got out. A nearly sixty-year-old ex-convict, with no house, no savings, no one willing to take him in.

Did this count as retribution? I didn't know. I only knew it was nowhere near enough.

"But he's not the main point," Julian's tone changed direction.

"What do you mean?"

"I've already filed a property recovery petition with the court," he said. "All the funds Benjamin and Margaret have misappropriated from your inheritance account over the years—including the transferred trust portions, the offshore account portions—all of it will be recovered."

My breath caught for a beat.

"The real estate, vehicles, and bank deposits under their names—as long as we can prove the source is your inheritance, everything will be frozen and seized. This money will go into a new custodial account, supervised by a court-appointed third party. After all the cases are fully processed, the full amount will be returned to you."

I stood by the roadside, my palm sweating around the phone.

"This is what your parents left behind," Julian's voice softened slightly, like reciting a prayer. "It should have belonged to you all along."

Inheritance recovery.

This was what I'd been working toward these past few months. The evidence I found during my nighttime exploration of the study. The copies of account books I gave Julian. The $1.42 million transaction record from the Zurich bank. And those trust funds that had been transferred away—eighty percent of them.

I took risks doing all of this for this moment.

But now that it was actually happening—today, on my most devastating day—I felt no joy whatsoever.

Because the cost was too high. Those photos. Those stares. Those pointing fingers. Those whispers of "oh my god that's her," "I heard about her and her uncle-in-law," "I saw the photos." They would follow me for the rest of my life. No matter how many years Benjamin was sentenced to, no matter whether the inheritance could be recovered, some things could never go back to the way they were.

"Elise." Julian's voice pulled me back from that empty state. "I want to see you."

"See me?"

"To confirm you're safe," he said simply. "We can't talk clearly over the phone. I need to see you with my own eyes. Where are you now? I'll come pick you up."

I looked around.

The roadside by the school entrance. A suitcase with a crooked handle standing by my feet, covered in dust. In the distance, someone was taking photos in this direction. The sunlight shone down, warm, but I felt cold.

"Then let's go to the police station," I said.

Julian's end went quiet for a moment, then he spoke.

"I don't think now is a good time. This just happened. You should rest, find a safe place to hide, not actively walk into that vortex."

"Elise, you need to let yourself off the hook," his tone carried something almost pleading.

I let out a bitter laugh.

"It's precisely because this happened that I want to see Benjamin's downfall even more," I said, word by word. "I hope you can be my lawyer. I absolutely cannot allow Benjamin to escape legal punishment again."

Another silence.

Then Julian's voice came through, carrying a hint of approval I hadn't anticipated. Perhaps relief. Perhaps gratification.

"Alright. I'll come get you. I'll be there in half an hour."

The call ended.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and leaned back against the bench.

Above my head was a plane tree. The leaves were dense, sunlight filtering through the gaps, casting dappled shadows on the ground. A few yellowed leaves drifted down, spinning as they landed by my feet.

The wind blew past, carrying the characteristic warm breath of early summer. Across the street was a small ice cream cart with a few students lined up. Their laughter drifted over faintly, distant as if from another world.

I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and rested it against the bench.

No matter what price Benjamin paid, my life had ultimately been destroyed by him.