Chapter 260 Find Out Whose Handiwork It Was

Chapter 260 Find Out Whose Handiwork It Was

Helen sat in front of her screen, watching the comment count soar and angry fan messages flood in. A vicious smirk curved at the corner of her lips.

Audrey, aren't you supposed to be a genius? Aren't you supposed to be so high and mighty? Let's see if you still dare to step on that stage after being boycotted by tens of millions of fans.

The next morning.

Audrey sat in the underground lab, examining cell slides under her microscope. Her phone was on silent—she had no idea about the storm raging online.

Meanwhile, Vernon's management company headquarters had descended into complete chaos.

"Vernon, the PR department can't contain this anymore!" David burst into the lounge clutching his tablet, sweat pouring down his face. "The fans are extremely emotional right now. Some are even threatening to show up at the AMAs with protest banners. Maybe we should... replace Audrey? If this blows up any bigger, it's going to seriously damage your reputation."

Vernon leaned back on the couch, his eyes coldly scanning the vicious comments on the tablet screen.

"Replace her?" Vernon let out a cold laugh, his deep-set eyes radiating an intimidating chill. "Since when do a bunch of idiots hiding behind keyboards get to tell me what to do with my sister?"

He snatched the tablet and logged directly into his official Twitter and Instagram accounts—accounts with tens of millions of followers.

David's eyes widened in alarm. "Vernon, what are you doing? Don't be rash! Posting something now will only make things worse!"

"Shut up." Vernon's tone was ice-cold.

Ignoring his manager's protests, his fingers flew across the screen, composing a post. He hit send.

[No favors pulled. No nepotism. The new single for the AMAs—lyrics, composition, arrangement, and the 'amateur' pianist you're all attacking—it's all the same person. My sister. She's the soul of this song. Without her, there is no performance.]

Below the text, Vernon attached a 30-second audio clip.

It was the piano demo Audrey had played last night in the Collins family living room.

The moment the post went live, the entire North American fan community fell into a brief, stunned silence.

Then the play count exploded at a terrifying rate.

That 30-second piano solo contained no flashy showmanship—just an incredibly clean, haunting melody that pierced straight to the soul. Every chord progression carried a breathtaking sense of fragility and explosive power.

Fans who had been frantically spamming boycott hashtags just moments ago were left speechless.

Within minutes, the comment section underwent a complete reversal.

[Oh my God... this melody is incredible! I have goosebumps all over!]

[This is what you call an inexperienced amateur? This level of skill blows away ninety percent of professional keyboardists!]

[Wait, Van just said she wrote the lyrics, music, AND arrangement? What kind of genius sister is this!]

[So we were basically used as pawns by that anonymous poster? That person is pure evil! We almost destroyed this god-tier collaboration!]

Realizing they'd been manipulated, the fans' fury instantly redirected.

They swarmed the anonymous post, not only mass-reporting it until it was banned, but tech-savvy fans even began attempting to doxx the original poster.

At the management company, David watched the public opinion reverse course and let out a long breath of relief, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.

But Vernon wasn't about to let this go.

He stared at the now-banned anonymous account, his eyes sharp as knives.

He knew his fans too well. Though intense, they would never attack an unexposed musician without reason.

This poster not only knew the accompanist had been changed but deliberately used malicious, inflammatory language to stoke emotions.

This was targeted at Audrey.

Vernon immediately dialed a number. "Trace the original IP address of that anonymous post. I don't care what methods you use—within ten minutes, I want to know who's behind this."

Ten minutes later, a detailed IP tracking report arrived in Vernon's inbox.

Vernon opened the email, his gaze falling on the final traced location.

Virginia, McLean.

And more precisely—traced to the local network node of the Collins Mansion.

Vernon's expression darkened instantly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his phone.

Among those in the house who knew Audrey would be performing, besides their parents, there was only Helen—who'd been at dinner last night when he'd bragged about it.

"Good. Very good." Vernon's jaw clenched as he grabbed his car keys and strode out of the lounge.

Half an hour later, a black SUV screeched to a halt outside the Collins Mansion with a sharp brake squeal.

Vernon stepped out radiating fury and stormed into the house, taking the stairs two at a time.

"BANG!"

Helen's bedroom door flew open under the force of his kick.

Helen sat at her vanity, trembling with rage as she watched the online backlash completely backfire.

The door suddenly exploded inward and she screamed, whipping around.

Vernon stood in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the hallway light.

His expression was dark as a storm cloud, his eyes cold enough to freeze someone dead.

"...Vernon?" Helen's face went pale. She forced a stiff smile. "Why did you suddenly come home? What happened to the door..."

Vernon didn't waste words. He strode directly to her and slammed his phone down on the vanity.

On the screen was the IP trace report, pinpointing the Collins family's local network.

"Explain this." Vernon's voice held no inflection, yet radiated bone-chilling pressure. "Why did the IP address of whoever posted that inflammatory attack on Audrey originate from your room?"

Helen's pupils constricted sharply, her heart skipping a beat.

She never imagined Vernon would trace the IP—and so quickly!

But she absolutely couldn't admit it. Admission would mean her complete destruction in the Collins family.

"What post? What IP?" Helen's eyes immediately reddened, tears streaming down like broken pearls. She looked at Vernon with wounded innocence, shaking her head frantically. "Vernon, I don't understand what you're talking about. I've been in my room reading all morning—I haven't even been online!"

She pointed at her computer, her voice trembling, the picture of grievance. "Maybe someone hacked our home network? Or some anti-fan is deliberately framing me? Vernon, would you really believe cold data over me? How could I possibly hurt Audrey!"

Vernon looked at Helen's pitiful expression, disgust practically overflowing from his eyes.

"You think deleting your browser history makes you untraceable?" Vernon sneered, pointing at the screen data. "The Collins family network has physical-level firewalls. Every data packet is logged at the base level. Your MacBook's device MAC address is right there in black and white. Still want to deny it?"

Helen's crying caught in her throat. She stared at the MAC address, her face ashen, completely collapsing onto the floor.

The commotion at the door had alerted Lucienne downstairs.