Chapter 43
Chapter 43
Joanna's POV
I stepped through the front door of Sebastian's mansion, the jar of homemade jam still clutched in my hand.
The house felt eerily quiet. I made my way to the dining room where Peter, Sebastian's loyal butler, was carefully arranging silverware on the table. When he spotted me, his weathered face creased into a gentle smile.
"Joanna, dinner is ready," he said, pulling out a chair for me.
I nodded and sat down, though my appetite had vanished hours ago. The food looked perfect as always, but I could barely bring myself to pick up my fork. My mind kept replaying the image of that old woman slicing rock-hard bread with trembling hands.
"Peter, is Sebastian home yet?" I asked casually, taking a small sip of water.
Peter continued pouring water into my glass with practiced precision. "Mr. King is attending an important charity gala in Stanford today. He won't be back until tomorrow evening."
I nodded again, trying to hide my reaction as my eyes involuntarily darted toward the hallway where Sebastian's study was located.
'Tomorrow evening? That means tonight... the study would be empty. Could this be my chance?'
---
Back in my room, I stood before the bathroom mirror, watching water drip from my chin. My face looked pale and drawn in the harsh lighting. I wrapped a towel around myself and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the clock on the wall.
The minutes ticked by slowly. Ten o'clock. Ten-thirty. Eleven.
My fingers unconsciously gripped the bedsheets, twisting them as my thoughts raced.
'Sebastian won't be back until tomorrow. The study is empty. It's now or never.
But what would I do if I found evidence that he really had embezzled that money?
The thought made my stomach twist painfully. Despite everything, part of me still wanted to believe Sebastian couldn't be responsible for something so cruel.
I closed my eyes and saw the old woman's hands trembling as she cut bread. I remembered the elderly man with the cane explaining how they'd lived there their whole lives. The woman with thick glasses who'd lost her husband last year and was now facing homelessness.
'They're suffering so much while Sebastian lives in this palace. If he really stole that compensation money, I can't just ignore it.'
The clock struck midnight, each chime like a call to action. I took a deep breath.
'Okay, Joanna. It's now or never. If I find nothing, at least I'll know. And if I find something... well, I'll figure that out when it happens.'
---
The hallway was dark and silent as I crept toward Sebastian's study, wearing just my pajamas.
I pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the faint creak. Once inside, I closed it behind me with equal care and turned on my phone's flashlight. The beam swept across the massive desk that dominated the room. I moved directly toward it, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet.
I reached for the second drawer—the one Zayne had mentioned—and pulled gently. To my surprise, it slid open without resistance.
'It's not locked? That's weird.'
I hesitated, my hand frozen on the drawer handle. But I'd come too far to turn back now.
Inside the drawer was a stack of neatly arranged files. I rifled through them, my fingers trembling slightly, until my eyes caught on a folder labeled "Bronx Community Redevelopment Contract."
My heart skipped a beat.
I pulled out the file and opened it, my eyes scanning the pages rapidly. There it was in black and white: the compensation agreement clearly stated $500,000 per household. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the figure.
'Five hundred thousand? But those people said they were only getting around a hundred thousand. Where's the rest of the money going?'
I flipped through more pages, anger building inside me with each turn. The contract was clear—the full amount had been budgeted and approved. There was no explanation for the massive discrepancy.
My hands were shaking now, not from fear but from fury.
'Sebastian, how could you?'
---
Before leaving the study, I'd carefully photographed the pages showing the compensation amounts, making sure the numbers were clearly visible. Then I'd put everything back exactly as I found it and slipped out, my mind reeling from what I'd discovered.
Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the photos I'd taken of the contract.
Looking at the evidence on my phone, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.
'Where did the other $400,000 per household go? How many families are involved? The total must be millions of dollars.'
I gripped my phone tightly, anger surging through me. All those times I'd defended Sebastian, all those moments I'd told myself he couldn't be as cold and calculating as he seemed—I'd been wrong. He was worse.
'Those elderly people are going to lose their homes, and Sebastian is profiting from their misery. How can I face him knowing this?'
I thought about what to do next. Report it to the police? I had no idea if these photos would be enough evidence. Go to the media? Maybe, but would anyone believe me—Sebastian King's assistant—over him?
Then I remembered Zayne. He seemed genuinely concerned about those residents. Maybe he could help.
---
My finger hovered over the send button. Even at this late hour, but he'd answered immediately when I texted: [Are you awake? I need to talk to you.]
He called immediately, "What's wrong? Can I help?"
I took a deep breath, phone clutched in my trembling hands.
"Zayne, I found the Bronx redevelopment contract in Sebastian's study tonight," I said. "The compensation is supposed to be $500,000 per household, but the residents are only getting around $100,000. I think Sebastian really is embezzling money."
There was a pause before Zayne's voice came through the line, "What? $500,000 versus $100,000? I had no idea it was that bad! Joanna, I didn't think Sebastian would stoop this low. Do you have the contract with you?"
My heart raced. "No, I just took photos of it. I was afraid to take the actual document."
"Photos could work as evidence," Zayne replied quickly. "Joanna, we could take this to major media outlets, put pressure on Sebastian. Make him return the money to those residents."
A chill ran through me. 'Media? Going public against Sebastian King?'
"Zayne, if Sebastian gets investigated, could he go to jail?"
"Don't worry," came Zayne's reassuring response. "My grandfather adores him too much to let that happen. It's just about applying enough pressure to make Sebastian return the embezzled money to the residents. Public opinion will force his hand."
I stared at my phone, unconvinced. 'Would it really be that simple?' "I only have photos, not the original contract."
"Photos are evidence too, Joanna. Send them to me, and I'll contact some media connections. Complete confidentiality, I promise."
My finger hovered over the send button. Once I did this, there was no turning back. I would be actively working against Sebastian, the man who'd kissed me senseless just days ago, who'd promised to take care of my family.
But then I pictured the old woman's smile and the elderly man's resigned dignity. I remembered the jar of homemade jam, given by someone who had so little yet shared anyway.
'I'm sorry, Sebastian. I can't let those people suffer.'
With a deep breath, I pressed send, watching as the photos transferred to Zayne.