Siena didn't sleep.
Even though she'd crawled into bed before midnight and stared at the ceiling until the shadows faded into dawn, sleep never really came. Her mind was a battlefield, a quiet but relentless war waging behind her eyes. Every name, every file, every unexplained connection played on repeat like an unsolvable puzzle missing a single piece—Withers.
The name had become more than a question mark. It was a ghost, a whisper, a thread that kept unraveling everything she thought she knew about her father, about Hartline, about her entire life.
She got out of bed before her alarm went off. Showered. Dressed. By the time the sun was brushing the tops of the buildings, she was already at Hartline HQ.
The office buzzed like a hive shaken from its peace. News of Trent's arrest had swept through the building like wildfire. Some people were whispering. Others were outright panicking. Security had been doubled overnight. Every top-level staff member had been summoned for meetings, briefings, and crisis control.
And Siena—she was walking straight into the middle of it all.
"Morning, boss," Carla said the moment Siena stepped into the conference room. Her tone was clipped, her expression unreadable.
"What's the status?" Siena asked, barely setting her bag down.
"We've locked down all financial accounts with previous ties to Trent. Legal drafting statements for both shareholders and the press. And Waverly—she's on the phone with the board."
Siena nodded once. "Any word from Reeve?"
Carla glanced at her phone, then back. "Not yet. He's still tracking Withers."
Siena didn't hide the frustration on her face.
"Someone wanted this public," she muttered. "Someone wanted Trent out of the picture before we could squeeze more out of him."
Carla folded her arms. "Do you think he would've talked?"
"I think," Siena said quietly, "that he was scared enough to. And that's exactly why he had to be silenced. Not killed—just exposed. Discredited. Useless."
She looked toward the glass window of the room. The city moved in slow motion beyond it, unaware that beneath the steel and sunlight, war was beginning to brew.
"Who benefits from him being out of the way?" Carla asked, her voice lower now.
Siena's answer was immediate. "W.H. Whoever they are, they're still several moves ahead."
Carla hesitated. "You think your father knew?"
Siena closed her eyes for a moment. "If he didn't… then he died for being blind. And if he did—then everything he left behind might have been part of the lie."
---
Across the city, Alexander stepped out of the elevator into Blackwood Tower's top floor, where an emergency board meeting had been called. The faces around the table were as sharp as they were calculating—directors, investors, legal heads.
Everyone had questions.
And Alexander—he was the answer.
"Before we begin," he said, standing at the head of the table, "understand this—Blackwood Industries had no hand in leaking Hartline's audit findings. But that doesn't mean we're not paying attention to what's happening."
One of the older board members leaned forward. "What's your position, Alexander? On the merger. On Siena Hart."
Alexander's jaw tensed for a second, but he didn't flinch.
"My position is that Hartline Industries is at the center of a financial and legal storm. And Siena Hart happens to be the only person trying to steer it without crashing."
Another voice piped in from his left. "So you support her?"
"I support the truth," Alexander said calmly. "Whatever it takes to get to it."
There were murmurs around the table. No one pushed harder. Not yet.
But Alexander knew—it was only a matter of time before Blackwood's board wanted to cut ties, especially if Siena became a liability instead of an asset.
After the meeting, he returned to his office. His assistant, Myra, followed close behind with a folder.
"This just came in," she said, placing it on his desk. "Reeve's team finally located something—an old property owned by Withers. Not in the city. A lakeside estate about two hours north."
Alexander opened the folder. Coordinates, images, and dated bills.
"Have Reeve meet me there this afternoon," he said.
"You're going in person?"
"I need to look him in the eye," Alexander muttered. "If he's really behind this, or if he's just another pawn."
---
By mid-afternoon, Siena stood in the center of her father's old office.
She hadn't stepped into this room in over a year.
It still smelled faintly of leather and cedarwood. The same old desk. The same books are on the shelves. Except now—now, everything felt like a mask. A curated portrait of a man who might have never been who she thought he was.
She moved behind the desk, running her fingers across the top, then paused at the drawer on the right. She unlocked it.
Files. Old letters. One photograph—her father with Harold Withers, smiling on the golf course. She stared at it for a long time.
Then something caught her eye. Tucked behind the drawer lining, is a tiny slip of paper. She tugged it free.
An address.
And scribbled below it: "If something happens to me, start here. Trust no one."
Her breath hitched.
She was dialing Alexander before she could stop herself.
He answered on the second ring. "Siena?"
"I found something," she said, already moving toward the door. "An address. My father left it hidden. He knew something. He was scared."
"I'm on my way to Withers' last known property. Send me the address, I'll meet you after."
She hesitated. "Be careful."
"You too," he said. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."
---
At dusk, Alexander stood on the cracked steps of an old estate surrounded by pine trees and silence.
The house loomed like a forgotten relic, windows shuttered, paint peeling. Reeve stood beside him, gun holstered, eyes scanning the perimeter.
"You sure this is the place?" Alexander asked.
Reeve nodded once. "Utility bills were paid until two months ago. After that—nothing."
They stepped inside.
The air was stale. Dust-covered furniture. Old magazines. But it wasn't abandoned. Not completely.
There were signs of recent activity—a coffee cup in the sink. A jacket was thrown over a chair.
And then, in the study, they found it.
A map—spread across the desk. Markings. Timelines. Financial trails. A list of names.
Siena Hart.
Alexander Blackwood.
Dael Rhodes.
And at the very bottom—
W.H. – circled in red.
Alexander's phone buzzed. A text from Siena.
Address: 404 Clement Hill. Bring backup.
He stared at the map one more time.
Then he turned to Reeve.
"It's a web," he said. "And we're right in the middle of it."
---
Meanwhile, Siena drove alone through the outskirts of the city, the address from the note guiding her through winding roads and quiet hills. The location was a storage facility, tucked behind a line of abandoned warehouses.
Unit 17.
She stepped out, her breath fogging in the cooler air.
As she approached, her hand trembled slightly. This wasn't just about business anymore. This was about her father. About the secrets he'd buried so deep that only his death could unearth them.
She unlocked the unit.
Inside—dusty shelves, boxes, an old safe.
And in the corner, a filing cabinet with her father's name engraved on it.
She moved slowly, opening drawers.
Medical records.
Insurance documents.
And then—at the bottom—a folder marked: "Blackwood Merger Proposal – Internal Only"
She pulled it out.
Inside were drafts of legal memos, negotiation notes… and letters. Letters between her father and Withers.
The last one was dated three days before her father died.
"We proceed as agreed. Siena cannot know yet. Alexander has to earn her trust first. Once the merger is finalized, the transition will be smooth."
Siena's knees gave way for a second.
They planned this.
Before she even met Alexander, before any of it began.
Was everything… orchestrated?
Her phone rang.
Alexander.
She answered, voice tight. "I found letters. Between my father and Withers. About you. About all of this."
Silence on the other end.
Then—his voice, raw. "So did I. Siena—this wasn't a coincidence. We were set up. Both of us."
She closed her eyes.
Everything she thought she'd fought for…
Was it all a lie?