Chapter 73
Emily Windsor's POV
Professor Douglas suddenly smiled—a smile tinged with relief, understanding, and a trace of barely perceptible pride, like a father watching his daughter.
"Emily," he spoke, his tone softening considerably, "your choice to believe in him seems to have been the right one."
I hadn't expected this sudden shift. I froze slightly.
He no longer looked at me, turning his gaze back to Luke. The solemnity and wariness had transformed into something far more complex—a reassessment.
"Mr. Victor, you're a born gambler." The professor slowly leaned back in his chair, as if arriving at his final decision. "Handing me something this valuable—aren't you afraid I'll take it and not hold up my end of the bargain?"
"You won't." Luke's tone was certain. He glanced at me beside him, the ice in his eyes quietly melting. "Because Emily is your student. I trust her judgment, and I trust your character."
In that moment, Luke wasn't merely conducting a business negotiation—he was declaring, in the way only a man could, his trust and claim on me to my mentor.
The professor looked at us both and finally nodded.
"I'll do my best to make this happen." He carefully put away the list, solemnly placing it in his drawer. "The warrants and search orders you want will be on the right desks by tomorrow morning at the latest."
The deal was done.
On the drive back from Columbia University, Luke and I shared a mutual silence.
Outside the car window, the city's neon lights flickered bizarrely, like a flowing river of stars, yet they couldn't illuminate the depths of the silent ocean between us.
The deal had been struck. That list—capable of unleashing a tsunami across New York—had become our pledge to the authorities, and a sword of Damocles hanging over our enemies' heads.
But I knew this was only the beginning.
Hank was like a rabid dog backed into a corner. Before he went down completely, he'd use every last ounce of strength to bite us.
And his biggest bargaining chip was undoubtedly those files documenting the Victor family's original sins.
The car glided smoothly into Victor Mansion. Unusually, Lily hadn't returned to her own apartment but was pacing back and forth in the living room, clearly having waited for some time.
Seeing us enter, she immediately approached, her face wearing its habitual anxiety. But within that anxiety, there was less hostility toward me and more concern for the bigger picture.
"How did it go?" she asked Luke.
Luke removed his suit jacket, casually handing it to a nearby servant, and sat down on the sofa with a calm expression. "The FBI will move as early as tomorrow."
He said no more, but Lily immediately understood everything. A flash of satisfaction crossed her eyes, quickly replaced by deeper worry. "What about the stuff Hank's holding? If he decides to go down swinging and leaks it all..."
"Which is why I need you to do something." Luke interrupted her, his gaze heavy as he looked at his sister.
"What?" Lily immediately straightened her spine, like a cheetah about to enter the battlefield.
"Use your people," Luke's voice wasn't loud, but carried an undeniable weight. "That network you've built in Europe, independent of the Victor family—Hank and the Lowe family can't trace it. I need you to find out immediately who Hank is using to try and sell those files."
Lily's eyes lit up instantly.
"Whoever he wants to sell to, it's either overseas media waiting to see us humiliated, or our business competitors." Lily's mind worked at lightning speed, a vicious cold smile appearing on her face. "Don't worry. Give me twelve hours max, and I guarantee I'll drag out that middleman for you!"
With that, unable to sit still any longer, she turned and strode out purposefully, her high heels striking the floor like urgent war drums.
The living room returned to quiet.
I watched Luke. He was pouring himself a glass of water, his profile under the crystal chandelier showing hints of fatigue, yet remaining hard-edged.
He'd deflected the FBI's suspicions for me, pointed Lily toward battle, arranged everything and everyone with perfect clarity—yet kept his own pressure hidden flawlessly, without a single crack showing.
The next dozen hours were a long, oppressive wait.
Lily proved true to her word.
The following morning, an encrypted email arrived in Luke's inbox.
She'd leveraged her connections in Europe's intelligence circles, precisely targeting an international broker operating in Geneva.
This individual made his living trafficking in corporate secrets and political scandals, with an extremely high reputation.
The investigation report showed that Hank was attempting to use this broker to simultaneously sell electronic copies of the files to three multinational corporations competing with the Victor family, as well as two European media outlets known for reporting explosive scandals.
He wasn't after money—he wanted to completely destroy the Victor family's foundation, to turn Luke's cleanup and transformation into an international joke.
"He's smart. Knows not to put all his eggs in one basket." I looked at the information in the email, feeling a wave of retroactive fear.
If this material leaked, the chain reaction would be catastrophic.
"I've already communicated with the FBI." Luke closed the email, his expression cold and grim. "We're going to conduct a joint operation with them."
He looked at me, laying out the plan completely. "The Victor family will pose as one of the buyers, offering money as bait to draw out Hank and that broker. The FBI will handle the perimeter setup and arrest."
It was a flawless plan—using Hank's own greed to set the final trap for him.
The operation was scheduled for the following night, Geneva time.
That evening, New York's night seemed particularly deep.
The study remained unlit, only the glow from the computer screen casting a ghostly light on Luke's face.
He pulled up a file—the one Hank treasured like a jewel, the criminal history of the Victor family.
"Before the operation, there's something I think you should know." His voice in the silent air sounded somewhat hoarse.
My heart clenched without warning.
He turned the screen toward me, pointing to a section of text marked in red.
It was an internal report from a dock firefight that had occurred over twenty years ago. At the end of the report was a casualty list.
My gaze locked onto one name, my entire body's blood seeming to freeze instantly.
[Hazel Windsor, 62, local community resident, killed on scene by stray bullet.]
That was my grandmother.
My grandmother's life, in the eyes of those in power, was nothing more than collateral damage that could be disregarded in pursuit of family interests.
Overwhelming grief and bone-deep cold wrapped around me like two invisible hands, gripping my heart so tightly I could barely breathe.