Geraldine sat at her study desk, the lamp casting a soft yellow glow across her face as the computer screen blinked back at her. The flash drive pulsed in her palm like a heartbeat.
She opened an encrypted browser, uploaded the list, and typed in three email addresses:
The New York Sentinel District Prosecutor Evelyn Crest @TheUndergroundTruths – an anonymous whistleblower blog known for exposing criminal networks
Her finger hovered.
She clicked Send.
The file disappeared into cyberspace like a secret whispered into a hurricane.
There was no going back.
By morning, the world knew Bekett Donovan's name.
The front page of every major newspaper had it smeared in black font:
"Billionaire Linked to International Trafficking Ring"
"Leaked List Exposes Underground Empire: Bekett Donovan Among Suspects"
Geraldine made pancakes while the headlines played on the news behind her. Lovia sang off-key as she poured syrup. Reena kept asking why there were reporters outside the gates.
Geraldine kept her answers short and her smiles tighter.
Her phone buzzed.
Lachlan: You did it.
Geraldine: No. I started it.
Two hours later, the front gate was rammed.
A black SUV smashed into the metal like a battering ram, sparks flying. Geraldine yanked her daughters from the living room and screamed for Tracy, the housekeeper.
"Safe room. Now!"
The alarms went off. Tracy swept the girls into the hidden stairwell beneath the dining room tiles. Geraldine followed, slamming the panel shut behind them just as the front door burst open.
Footsteps. Gunshots. Shouting.
The safe room was steel-lined, soundproof. Inside, Reena was crying. Lovia clung to Tracy.
Geraldine dialed Lachlan Valez.
"Someone sent hitters."
"I'm already outside. Stay down."
Through the small surveillance screen in the safe room, she saw him—Lachlan in all black, a gun in each hand, moving like smoke through the chaos. He dropped two men with surgical shots. A third tried to run—Lachlan let him go.
Messages needed messengers.
When the smoke cleared, six men lay dead across her estate.
One had a tattoo behind his ear—two serpents kissing. Bekett Donovan's personal mark for assassins.
He didn't just suspect her now.
He knew.
Lachlan didn't speak until they were alone in her study. His jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might snap.
"You should've told me you were leaking the file."
"I didn't want to wait," she said. "Every second I wait, my girls are in danger."
He nodded. "Then you better prepare for war."
"I already did," she said quietly.
He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "You're not the same woman from three weeks ago."
"No," Geraldine replied. "She was trying to survive. I'm trying to win."
That night, Bekett called.
His voice came through the speaker—calm, composed.
"You've made a mess."
"I cleaned one," Geraldine said.
"You've made enemies."
"You made them first."
Bekett paused. "If you think exposing me changes anything, you've never understood power."
Geraldine leaned back in her chair, ice in her voice.
"I understand it perfectly. Power isn't about fear. It's about what people believe. And now they believe you're filth."
His tone sharpened. "You should've run when you had the chance."
"I am done running."
He laughed once. Cold. Hollow.
"Then you die with them."
She hung up.
Lachlan walked in. "You sure that was smart?"
"No," Geraldine said. "But it was necessary."
She looked at the picture on her desk—her wedding photo. Bekett, smiling. Her, young and naive.
She picked it up and shattered the glass.
Because now there was no more pretending.
This wasn't marriage.
This was war.