Chapter 51
Emily Windsor's POV
The proclamation detonated like a bomb in the conference room.
After a stunned beat of silence, chaos erupted.
"This is madness!" Eugene shot to his feet, trembling with rage. "Luke, you're cutting off your own arms! These companies have been our partners for decades—feeding thousands of families! You can't just terminate everything overnight. Who's going to shoulder the losses?"
"Exactly! Those connections—those relationships—if you sever them this brutally, it'll blow back on all of us!"
"Youth and recklessness! You're dragging the entire Victor family into the abyss!"
The backlash came from all sides—some playing wounded, others openly hostile. Every single one of them was defending their slice of the pie.
Those so-called "rabid dogs"? They were all leashed to these men's profit chains.
I sat perfectly still, watching the grotesque theater unfold, ice settling in my chest.
Luke's reform wasn't just about corporate restructuring. It was an assault on the entire rotten foundation they'd built their empires on.
"Gentlemen," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the din, "are you suggesting that without these dirty deals, the Victor family can't survive?"
Every head swiveled toward me. The hostility was palpable.
Eugene redirected his fury in my direction. "This is a Victor family matter. Since when does an outsider get a vote? Luke—it's this woman who's poisoned your judgment!"
"She's not an outsider." Luke's hand closed over mine—solid, grounding. "She's the chief legal counsel I personally retained. Every decision I just announced is based on her professional assessment."
His gaze met mine, steady and encouraging.
I understood immediately. Rising to my feet, I pulled up the presentation I'd prepared in advance, projecting it onto the massive screen. Clear, damning evidence—every fatal flaw in the contracts with Nordic Shipping and the others, highlighted in clinical detail.
"What you're looking at," I said, my tone professional and unyielding, "are the legal vulnerabilities in every single one of these partnerships. I've identified clauses that allow us to terminate without liability—and in several cases, sue for damages."
I paused, letting it sink in, then locked eyes with Eugene.
"Mr. Victor, the losses you're so concerned about? They won't materialize. In fact, we'll be extracting substantial compensation from these so-called partners. As for the chaos you're predicting..."
I let a cold smile touch my lips.
"I imagine the FBI and Interpol will be more than happy to help us manage that chaos."
Eugene stared at the screen, his face draining of color. The impenetrable legal fortress his high-priced attorneys had built? I'd just torn through it like tissue paper.
The room fell silent again—but this time, fear rippled beneath the quiet.
"I'm done here." Luke stood, his presence commanding the room. He looked down at the shell-shocked board members, his voice glacial. "The decision is final. Effective immediately. Anyone who has a problem with it can surrender their shares and walk away from the Victor family. Right now."
No one dared speak.
He took my hand and led me out, past rows of venomous stares and barely suppressed terror, without so much as a backward glance.
After leaving the estate, Luke and I headed to the temporary shelter housing the trafficking survivors.
It was a converted community church—nothing fancy, but clean and warm, with food, water, and fresh clothing available.
After the vicious power plays of the family meeting, the simple humanity of this place was a balm. My shoulders, rigid with tension, finally began to ease.
Luke still had logistics to manage. He instructed Andy to remain and assist me with whatever I needed, then left to handle the fallout.
I kicked off my heels, traded my tailored suit for volunteer scrubs, and got to work distributing food and water.
Jade arrived shortly after, diving in beside me to help calm the survivors.
Most of them were still in shock—hollow-eyed, moving like puppets whose strings had been cut. The trauma was written in every vacant stare.
While handing out blankets, I noticed a girl huddled in the corner.
She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. Skeletal. Her blonde hair hung in brittle, straw-like tangles.
Unlike the others, she wasn't numb. She was trembling violently, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal convinced every shadow held a demon.
I picked up a cup of warm milk and approached slowly, keeping my movements gentle.
"You're safe now," I murmured. "No one's going to hurt you."
My approach seemed to trigger something. Her head snapped up, bloodshot blue eyes locking onto mine.
Then her gaze shifted past me—to one of the Victor Group security personnel maintaining order near the door. The man wore the company uniform, the Victor family crest stitched neatly onto his sleeve.
The girl's reaction was immediate and visceral.
She let out a short, strangled scream and scrambled backward, shaking her head frantically.
"Teufel... Teufel..." she whispered in broken German, her voice barely more than a rasp.
My stomach dropped.
The security personnel were all handpicked from Luke's elite team—vetted, clean records, zero connection to trafficking operations.
She wasn't afraid of the man.
I followed her terrified gaze. It landed on the crest embroidered on his sleeve—a lion holding scales. The Victor family emblem.
It was the symbol.
She was afraid of the crest.
I crouched down, forcing my voice into something soft and steady. "You've seen this before, haven't you? Where did you see it?"
The girl's lips trembled. She couldn't form words—just stared at me with that same raw, animal terror.
Then, slowly, she raised a shaking hand.
She wasn't pointing at the guard.
She was pointing behind me—at Andy, who'd just stepped closer to take a phone call from Luke.
No. Not at Andy.
At the phone in his hand.
On the screen, the caller ID displayed a profile photo—Luke's face in sharp, unmistakable detail.
The girl's finger jabbed toward the image. Her whole body convulsed with tremors, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. A strangled, choking sound tore from her throat.
"Das ist er... das ist er..."
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
Time fractured.
The sounds of the shelter—muffled sobs, distant orders from the docks, the low hum of medical equipment—all of it faded into static. The world narrowed to two things: the girl's terrified blue eyes, and her trembling finger aimed at the man on that screen.
'It's him.'
The words were venom-tipped needles driving straight into my heart, spreading cold through every nerve.
It couldn't be.
The man who'd just declared war on his own family's corruption. The man who'd held me, kissed me, promised me we'd fight this together.
How could he be the monster in her nightmares?
"You..." My throat felt like sandpaper. I could barely force the words out.
I fought to steady myself, lowering to her level, meeting her eyes. My voice came out quieter, gentler.
"You recognize him? Where did you see him? Tell me."