Chapter 179 The Seeds of Doubt
The evening sun painted the tall glass windows of Annabelle’s office with soft gold. The city below buzzed with life, but up here on the twenty-third floor, everything was quiet.
Her desk was covered with papers, contracts, and congratulatory letters. The latest business magazine with her face on the cover lay open. The headline read, “Annabelle: The Woman Who Redefined Success.”
She stared at it for a long time. Her smile on the page looked bright and confident, but it didn’t feel like her anymore.
“Miss Hale,” her assistant’s voice broke the silence from the doorway. “The board is ready for your approval on the new proposal.”
Annabelle blinked. “Right. Tell them I’ll sign it in the morning.”
The assistant nodded and left quietly.
When the door closed, Annabelle leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes drift to the skyline. The glass towers glowed against the fading light. She should have felt proud—she had fought hard for this. Every deal, every risk, every sleepless night had led here. Yet her chest felt hollow.
Her father’s face flashed in her mind—his tired eyes, the last words he said before they took him away.
“Be careful what you chase, Annie. Sometimes success costs more than failure ever could.”
She pressed her lips together, trying to push the memory away, but it stayed. The sound of that prison gate slamming still echoed in her head after all these years.
She had not visited him once.
Her fingers trembled as she picked up her phone. She opened her messages and scrolled down to the contact saved as “Father.” There was no recent message. The last one was from him—sent years ago.
“I’m proud of you, always.”
Her throat tightened.
The knock on the door startled her. It was Mark, her business partner. “You’re still here? The celebration dinner starts in twenty minutes.”
“I’m not going,” she said softly.
He frowned. “What? Annabelle, this event is for you. You’re the reason we hit record profits this quarter.”
“I know,” she said, forcing a small smile. “But I’m tired.”
He walked closer. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Is everything alright?”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know.”
Mark hesitated. “You’ve worked for this your whole life. Why do you sound like it doesn’t matter anymore?”
“Because maybe it doesn’t,” she whispered.
He blinked. “You can’t mean that. You have everything now—money, power, respect—”
“Everything,” she interrupted, “except peace.”
Mark watched her in silence. He had seen her fight her way to the top with unbreakable will, but now she looked lost, as if the crown she wore had grown too heavy.
She rose from her chair and walked to the window. “Do you ever feel like you built the wrong dream?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” she said slowly, “what if all this was never worth it? What if I was just trying to prove something to someone who isn’t even here?”
Mark sighed. “You’re talking about your father.”
Her eyes darkened. “He’s still in prison, Mark. And I haven’t seen him in years.”
“You know why,” he said quietly. “It’s complicated. The accusations, the media—”
“But what if he didn’t do it?” she asked suddenly, turning toward him. Her voice trembled. “What if he was innocent all along?”
He looked uneasy. “Annabelle—”
“I read the reports again,” she said quickly. “The evidence was weak. The witnesses changed their statements. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”
Mark ran a hand through his hair. “You’re starting to sound like the old Annabelle again. The one who used to question everything.”
“Maybe that’s who I should’ve stayed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, he asked, “Are you thinking of going to see him?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
He frowned. “That could stir the media again. They’ll dig up the old scandal.”
“I don’t care,” she said firmly. “I can’t keep pretending he doesn’t exist. He’s my father.”
Mark sighed. “Then go. But be prepared. You might not like what you find.”
Her heart sank at his words. She turned back to the window, her reflection staring back at her. “I already don’t like what I’ve become,” she murmured.
When he left, the room grew silent again. She packed her purse, slipped her phone inside, and took one last look at the office—the place she had built her empire. The awards on the shelf glittered in the light, but they looked lifeless now, like trophies from a game she no longer wanted to play.
Outside, the night had deepened. She drove herself home through the city, the neon lights flashing past like ghosts of choices she could never change.
At a red light, she saw a poster on a bus stop—her father’s old company logo. It had been renamed after his fall, but the design was the same. She stared at it until the light turned green and someone honked behind her.
By the time she reached her penthouse, the doubt inside her had grown louder. She walked in and dropped her bag on the couch. The space was spotless, decorated with elegance, but it felt empty—like a museum of her success.
She walked to her bedroom and opened the drawer of her nightstand. Inside was a photograph—her, as a child, sitting on her father’s shoulders, both of them laughing.
Her fingers brushed over the picture. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.
She sat on the bed and stared at the photo for a long time. Then she took a deep breath and reached for her phone again.
Her voice trembled as she spoke to the operator. “Hello… I’d like to schedule a visit at Greenhill Correctional Facility. The name is Carson.”
The line was quiet for a few seconds. Then the voice replied, “Yes, ma’am. We can arrange that for tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” Annabelle said softly.
When she hung up, she sat still, staring into the dark. The sound of the city outside faded as doubt and guilt filled the silence.
She didn’t know what she would say to him, or what truth she might hear. But for the first time in years, she felt a strange kind of relief—like the first crack of light after a long night.
Still, in her chest, fear lingered. What if her success had been built on his ruin? What if her rise had been the cost of his fall?
Annabelle lay down, the photograph still in her hand. The city lights flickered against the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she would face the man she had avoided for years. And in doing so, she would face herself.