She had received his call, raced to the Bennett family building, and could almost see it now: the scene as it had unfolded, the culmination of his calculated despair. He had finished this letter before she arrived. He had chosen a death both public and humiliating, a final act to shield his wife and daughter from harm.

Everything tied to the Bennett legacy had been severed. Only the black box, a few loyal employees, and frozen assets in MKK remained.

The world said James had lost his mind. They laughed at the man who had mastered manipulation and psychological warfare, claiming he’d ended up broken, leaping to his death despite all the skills he had honed.

Millie had never believed it. She had always sensed something beyond the surface. Now she knew. Her father’s apparent humiliation had been a shield.

Her tears fell unchecked. She could not stop staring at the final, unyielding declaration: “Millie, I love you.”

A nearby plant swayed gently, though no breeze touched it, as if offering quiet solace.

“Dad…” she whispered, broken, collapsing into uncontrollable sobs.

Outside the office, Myron waited. The sound of her crying seeped through the door, raw and unguarded. He reached for the doorknob, hesitated, then withdrew. Perhaps she needed this moment alone.

From the instant Millie had held the blue diamond necklace, Myron had known this was about James. Few things had shaken her as profoundly, and her father’s death was the most monumental of all. He remembered his trip to the island in March, the quiet mentions that had once seemed inconsequential. Now every hint aligned.

He waited patiently as her sobs softened, until only soft, uneven breaths remained. A few minutes later, he knocked gently and entered.

Millie still sat there, rigid with grief. Myron closed the door, crossed the room, and wrapped her in his arms. She melted into him, silent tears coursing down her face. He rubbed her back slowly, grounding her, offering quiet, steady comfort.

Time passed. Eventually her sobs faded into lingering tremors. The laptop lay dark beside her, its revelations complete. Myron draped a coat around her shoulders and lifted her carefully.

“No hospital,” she murmured, her voice raw.

“Very well,” he replied softly.

He carried her to the car, and it drove them back to Elliott Mansion, their sanctuary, their place of fragile safety. Here, they needn’t worry about eavesdroppers. He gently placed her on the master bedroom’s large bed, then poured her a cup of warm water.

Outside, the sky gradually brightened, soft colors spilling across the horizon.

Myron sat quietly at her bedside, watching as Millie’s trembling breaths slowly steadied. Then, with deliberate tenderness, he picked up a tissue and wiped away the tears clinging to her lashes.

“Ronnie, I’ve figured it out.” Millie didn’t look at him; her gaze remained fixed on the white wall ahead, her fingers tightening around the warm cup.

Myron nodded, understanding without needing to ask.

“The situation might be more severe than I imagined. What I have to face won’t be easily resolved,” Millie continued, her voice low but firm.

Myron’s eyes stayed on her, steady, patient, unwavering, silently urging her to go on.

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