Chapter 179: The Smith Group Declares Bankruptcy
George was stunned. Emily was equally shocked.
Although Sophia had already hinted that Emily might not be a Smith by blood, who could have imagined she was actually George's illegitimate daughter?
Judging by George's expression, even he had no idea whose child she truly was.
If she had no blood ties to the Smiths at all, at least she could have searched for her biological parents after leaving—anything was better than ending up on the streets.
But a bastard child? That was worse than being a stranger. George would never acknowledge her, never take her in. Any woman willing to become his mistress was hardly a reliable fallback option either.
If she were cast out by the Smiths, where could she possibly go? Sleep under a bridge?
George snatched up the DNA report, reading it over and over as if unable to trust his own eyes. Once he'd confirmed there was no mistake, he whipped around to glare at Emily with fury and disbelief.
He hurled the document at her face. "What the hell is this? Whose daughter are you?"
The sharp edge of the paper sliced across Emily's delicate cheek. Terrified by the suffocating hostility in the room, she eyes brim with tears. . She didn't dare look up atthe murderous expressions on George and Jane's faces.
All she could do was sob repeatedly, "I don't know... I really don't know."
"You're the one who showed up with a paternity test in the first place, and now you tell me you don't know?" George's hand flew across her face again—harder this time. The force spun Emily half around before she collapsed onto the sofa.
Emily's heart heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn't comprehend how things had spiraled so catastrophically out of control. "Dad, no matter what, I'm still your daughter—"
"Shut up!" George's roar silenced her instantly, his rage threatening to consume her whole. "Some bastard spawn from God knows which whore—you think you're fit to be my daughter?"
Of course he wouldn't acknowledge her. George had never cared about flesh and blood. He only cared about profit.
When he'd married Jane, they'd signed a prenup: play around all you want, but absolutely no accidents—no illegitimate children inheriting assets. Any violation meant forfeiting all shares in Smith Group to the other party.
Admitting Emily was his would leave George with nothing.
"No need to argue." John sauntered in with a lazy smirk, waving several documents before tossing them onto the coffee table. "Dad, she's still your kid. If Mom wouldn't have her, you can raise her. At least she can take care of you in your old age."
George's expression darkened. "I have my shares in the company. What do I need her for? That useless piece of trash would only be a burden!"
"Your shares are worthless now." Andrew strode in wearing a tailored suit, his voice flat and emotionless. His deep-set eyes regarded George with complete indifference. "The Smith Group has officially filed for bankruptcy."
"What?" Jane's eyes went wide. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the sofa.
George stared blankly at Andrew, shock and fury warring in his gaze. "You're lying. There's no way Smith Group is bankrupt."
Andrew's expression remained impassive as he glanced at the documents on the table. George lunged for them frantically—bankruptcy court orders and asset liquidation reports.
John drawled casually, "Three days ago, the board voted unanimously for bankruptcy reorganization. Smith Group is seventy-two billion dollars in debt. All core assets have been mortgaged. As of today, the company is under creditor control."
George clutched the papers, his hands trembling violently. Jane snatched several pages, her sharp nails nearly puncturing the paper. "Impossible! Last quarter's financials showed profit!"
"Creative accounting for the banks." John leaned against the leather sofa, toying with a lighter. "Truth is, we've been bleeding out for a year now—covering operational costs by diverting project funds. Total accumulated debt? Seventy-two billion."
John appeared to calculate mentally, then flashed a cunning smile. "Just enough to mortgage every single core asset the company had."
Emily cowled in the corner of the sofa, the handprint stark against her cheek. She bit down hard on her lip as mascara-stained tears streaked her face. No one noticed her now—all eyes were fixed on the silent man in the center of the room.
"Andrew!" George suddenly exploded, charging forward to grab Andrew by the collar. "It was you, wasn't it? You planned this all along!"
The expensive fabric wrinkled under the violent grip, but Andrew didn't even flinch. He calmly pried his father's fingers away, adjusting his tie with deliberate precision. "If you couldn't manage the business properly yourself, don't go blaming everyone else. Besides—" He turned toward Jane. "At least Dad still has a dutiful daughter. But you, Mother? Looks like you've got nothing left at all."
The society maven's carefully maintained composure shattered instantly. She lunged at Emily, clawing at the girl's collar like a woman possessed. "It was you! Where is my third child? Tell me!"
A pendant flew from Emily's neckline, shattering in two on the carpet.
John whistled low, crouching to pick up the fragments. "Well, well. Isn't this from Mom's jewelry safe?"
He looked at Emily meaningfully. "Seems someone's been planning her exit strategy for a while now."
Outside, the rumble of heavy machinery suddenly filled the air. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, they could see several court vehicles parked in the driveway. Officials were plastering bankruptcy notices across the front gates.
George staggered backward, knocking over an antique grandfather clock.
Amid the sound of shattering glass, he burst into hysterical laughter. "Perfect! Just perfect! What wonderful sons I raised!"
Andrew checked his watch. "The moving company arrives in an hour."
He swept one final glance across the opulent living room, his gaze lingering briefly on Emily. "Ladies and gentlemen—best of luck."
As the brothers' silhouettes disappeared beyond the doorway, Emily finally collapsed to the floor.
Trembling, she pulled out her phone. Through tear-blurred vision, Sophia's name in her contacts swam into focus.
Her finger hovered over the call button—she didn't notice George raising the broken grandfather clock behind her, swinging it toward the back of her skull—The deafening impact shattered the last intact windowpane.
Crimson sunset flooded through, bathing the wreckage in blood-red light.
Outside, Andrew and John stood beside their respective cars, gazing at each other across the driveway like stars separated by galaxies.
Their alliance ended here. From this moment forward, they would compete on their own terms—for the one person they both wanted.