Chapter 378: Sowing Discord
The one who should truly act—wasn't her.
Emily lifted her eyes, voice frigid. "You have no right to judge whether I'll be the death of him."
Kismet let out a mocking laugh, as if Emily's restraint meant nothing. "You just need to keep standing beside him. That's enough. Look—he took a bullet for you. What about next time? And the time after that? The Campbell family's baggage will follow you forever. How many bullets can he catch?"
"You think you love him? You just need him. Need him to block bullets for you, solve problems you can't handle on your own."
Emily's gaze turned ice-cold in that instant.
She made no move. Offered no rebuttal. She simply watched Kismet in silence.
After a moment, she stood, looking down from above, tone eerily calm. "You're right. Charles does have a weakness."
"But don't forget—so do you."
Kismet's smirk faltered slightly. "What are you implying?"
Emily didn't answer. She turned to the tech specialist. "Continue. Pull everything—her communications, transfers, memos, cloud storage. All of it."
Kismet struggled against her restraints, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Emily! Touch my data and Gerald will never forgive you!"
Emily finally leaned close, voice dropping to a near-whisper by Kismet's ear. "Do you really think I care what he thinks?"
"You should be more worried about yourself."
Kismet's pupils shrank sharply, as if comprehension finally struck. Her expression shifted to shock. "You… you're going to make him think I—"
Emily straightened, face devoid of emotion. "Weren't you the one insisting I'd be Charles's downfall?"
"Then let's both wait and see—what becomes of you."
Kismet's breathing turned ragged, voice shaking. "Emily, you've lost your mind! Gerald will actually kill me!"
Emily regarded her coolly, still holding her emotions in check. "Whether he kills you or not is none of my concern. But I won't kill you. You don't have that privilege yet."
She paused, tone flat as if discussing trivia. "I'll simply push you back where you came from—and let your boss teach you your place."
Kismet froze. Then panic overtook her. "No… you can't… you said you wouldn't kill me!"
Emily's voice was ice. "I'm not killing you. But whether you survive after falling back into Gerald's hands—that depends on whether he still trusts you."
She turned away without another glance, moving toward the table.
The tech specialist reported quietly, "Found something. In her encrypted channel with the boss, there are keywords: 'insurance,' 'execution,' 'warehouse.' Also deletion traces."
Emily's lashes flickered faintly. "Recover the deletions too."
Kismet shook her head frantically, fear finally naked in her eyes. "Emily! Even if you hate me, don't send me to Gerald! He'll—"
Emily stopped but didn't turn. Her tone stayed calm to the point of cruelty. "Then survive."
"Explain yourself."
"Prove you didn't betray him."
A beat. Then she added, like a final blade: "If you can't prove it—then that's your fate."
Silence fell over the basement.
Kismet's gasps grew more frantic. Finally, she cracked, screaming, "You think doing this will keep Charles alive? He'll die because of you sooner or later! You hear me? Sooner or later—!"
Emily's back stiffened imperceptibly.
But she still didn't turn.
She needed to stay calm now.
She needed Gerald's operation to collapse from within first.
Only then could she focus on saving Charles.
Emily said softly to the specialist, "Fabricate some records. Let Gerald see something… interesting."
She didn't elaborate. But the specialist understood.
Emily's plan was taking shape: don't accuse Kismet of the virus directly. Start with betrayal. Make Gerald suspect Kismet sold him out—that might force the truth about the virus into the open. If Kismet was the one who infected Charles, she'd panic. If not, it would still throw Gerald off balance.
Using AI tools, they generated fake conversation logs: Kismet contacting a fabricated Windsor family informant, content suggesting she'd traded parts of Gerald's plan for a hefty payout and protection. Vague enough—no mention of the virus—just: "Mission changed. Charles didn't die. I need an exit."
They even forged bank transfer screenshots showing a $3 million deposit into an account.
Finally, all evidence was bundled into an encrypted file and "accidentally" sent to Gerald's dark web email via Kismet's phone—complete with fabricated transmission traces. It looked like Kismet herself had leaked it, perhaps through malware or a hack.
The entire process took just over an hour.
Emily reviewed the screen, confirming everything before turning to Kismet. "Now we wait. If Gerald sees this, what do you think he'll do?"
Kismet's face was ghostly pale, sweat beading on her forehead. "He won't believe it… he knows I'm loyal…"
Emily shook her head. "Men like Gerald don't believe in loyalty. They believe in evidence."
A pause. Her voice hardened. "Besides—your mission was to kill Charles. But he's alive. You think Gerald will let that slide?"
Kismet's body began trembling. She knew Emily was right. Gerald was paranoid. Even the faintest suspicion would turn him monstrous. Especially if it involved the virus operation—his core secret.
Kismet's voice cracked into a plea. "Let me go… I'll tell you the truth!"
Emily glanced at her once. "Too late."
In Gerald's villa, lights blazed.
He sat in his study, eyes fixed on the computer screen, a glass of red wine in hand. On-screen: surveillance footage from the amusement park—Charles collapsing from the gunshot, Emily's frantic cries, Louis arriving.
"Well done," Gerald murmured to himself, lips curving into a faint smile.
The virus was his trump card. An enhanced strain of influenza, laboratory-modified to bypass old antibodies and strike directly at the immune system. Once infected, Charles would weaken gradually until death came. Gerald wasn't entirely certain Kismet had executed the injection flawlessly, but her report had said "insurance executed"—it should be fine.