Clara
As I press the accelerator, I take a long drag on the cigarette. The nicotine filling me with a fleeting sense of calm.
I hate him.
I hate myself for fancying him.
And I hate how everything he said is true.
Sometimes when everything around you is so beautiful, so sparkling, and extremely comfortable, you tend to forget or ignore what it took to get them. You look away from the cracks, from the blood beneath the polish, because peace is easier to keep than truth.
I picture myself standing at the top of a human pyramid. People bent on hands and knees, their backs straining while I balance above them. But I'm not alone. My family stands beside me. Everyone, from little James to my grandmother.
I've played my part—whether by wielding the power my name carries or by keeping quiet about my father's secrets. I've always been inside it. A cog in the machine that perpetuates inequality and injustice.
I receive the text from Lily, saying she did what I asked her to. And requested for a larger sum this time because of how risky it was.
As I make a turn, seeing my house coming into view, my sweaty grip on the steering wheel tightens.
I can feel my heart pound against my chest as I swallow hard.
There are so many warning bells going off in my head telling me not to do this. Telling me it's beyond stupid. That I'm ruining everything. That it's better to keep quiet and not think about his harsh words. That by the looks of his sweet, guilt-ridden face, he would later give me a call and apologize or when we meet again, he'll go back to his usual rude self and forget ever saying that to me. Then I'll tease him like always and make him pay for what he said. That everything and everyone will go back to the way they were once this gem ordeal is over, so I don't need to stress over anything else right now.
But I also know that it had to be done sooner or later. Deep down, I knew this day would come no matter how much I pushed it into the back of my mind.
And if freedom is what I crave...then I'm not going to wait around hoping someone will hand it to me out of kindness. I'll take it. With my own hands. Even if I have to burn everything around me.
I knew from the moment Alister spat those words that they were a jab at me. A provocation. I curse myself for remembering everything he says, and I curse him for having to turn every conversation into either a cryptic signal, hidden clue or unwanted advice. Maybe that was his plan? To get me to keep thinking about him.
I park my car in the driveway and exit the vehicle, crushing my leftover cigarette under my shoe and ignoring the gawking stares of the guards. I walk towards the entrance doors, which have never felt as menacing as now.
As I burst through the entrance doors, my eyes scanning the empty foyer, I spot James, who is halfway up the stairs.
He flinches at the sound of my sudden entrance, dropping his book as he turns to face me. "Can't you enter like a normal person?" He frowns, as usual, looking more mature for his age.
I walk over to the wooden showcase filled with decorative trinkets and crouch down, opening a cupboard. I quickly slip the velvet pouch into my bag before I look back at James picking up his book.
As I take in the sight of him, a wave of emotion wash over me. Before I know it, I'm rushing towards him, my arms open wide. James's eyes go round in surprise as I envelop him in a tight hug, his slender body stiffening in protest.
"What are you...wait, were you smoking again?" He utters, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
As I hold him close, breathing in the scent of his blond hair, memories flood back—his tiny hands curling around my fingers, his squeals when I spun him in circles, the times I dressed him like a princess. James was like the little brother I never had, though Auntie kept him from me, and I had to steal moments with him. He rarely cried, unsettling everyone, and even my monster act only earned me his blank stare before he crawled away, bored.
I regret chasing my family's love instead of cherishing him.
"...are you dying?"
"Probably." I answer with a sigh.
"What?" He pushes me away as he looks at me with concern.
"You're ten minutes late!"
Mom's voice cracks through the air like a whip. From the top of the staircase, she towers above us, her arms crossed tightly over her white blouse, pearls around her neck.
James and I instinctively look up, our shoulders stiffening in unison. Her presence demands obedience—always has.
I try to maintain a neutral expression, but I can feel my heart racing as I begin to walk up the stairs towards her.
As I draw closer, her nose twitches. "Have...have you been smoking again!?" she asks, her voice trembling with rage.
"Is Dad in the study?" I ask, ignoring her question. I move past her, my strides long as I make my way towards the door.
I can feel her eyes burning into my back.
"Clara!" She yells, but I slam open the door, making my father look up from the book he's reading.
The sight of him, seated comfortably in his plush leather chair, his white polo shirt a stark contrast to the dark wood of the desk while a hot cup of coffee sits beside him, the aroma wafting through the air, accompanied by a plate of biscuits that seem to be freshly baked, further fuels my determination.
"What are you doing?" he sighs as he sets his book aside. His gaze behind his horn-rectangular reading glasses narrow slightly as he calmly takes in my expression.
I shut the door behind me, and the sound of the lock clicking into place echoes throughout the room. His eyes flicker to the door, a hint of surprise crossing his face, before he returns his gaze to me.
"I need to talk about something important." I say with my head held high. He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in a gesture of calm contemplation.
"I'll make it quick since I know you must be busy as always." I walk to his desk and take a seat, facing him.
"I know what you've been doing." I say calmly with a hint of accusation.
The lines on his face don't move. His stern expression doesn't change, but I notice a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
Once you let it out, there's no going back. You can't jump off the pyramid without crashing to the ground. There's still time to reconsider instead of throwing everything away on a gamble.
"I know about the embezzlement." I start, taking a deep breath and pushing back the storm of thoughts. "I know about the frauds you've committed and the lives you've ruined."
His facial muscles finally move to a confused frown. "What are you saying? Who told you this nonsense?" He growls, and I see his jaw clench.
"I have my ways." I answer as I lean back into the chair. "Are you going to deny all this?"
He sighs and places his glasses on his desk. "What's going on? What's all this about?"
"Still won't admit it? Let me jog your memory." I begin as I look him straight in his blue eyes. The one thing I inherited from him. "I know about the embezzlement scheme you orchestrated many years ago. I know how you used company funds to pay for personal expenses, like your luxury vacations." I lean forward as I see the color start to drain from his face.
"Clara..." he starts, but I'm not done yet.
"I know about the bribes. The shell companies. How you laundered everything." My voice drops to a whisper, and my elbows rest on his desk, my fingers intertwined as I rest my chin over them. "I know how you used your position to strong-arm competitors and silence whistleblowers. I know it all now."
His eyes stare at me, wide and with disbelief.
"I...get that those things were for selfish reasons." I swallow hard, trying not to think about the dead woman in the basement, her pleading eyes turned lifeless as she continued to stare at me. "but what about Alexander Matthew, the veteran whose war crimes that law firm covered up. The same one affiliated with our company by the same prosecutor that you're close with." I say, glancing down at the desk. "I know about the torture he inflicted on prisoners."
My father's expression turns pale. "How...could you possibly know that?"
"You must have heard the news by now." I answer, recalling a number of news station cars heading towards the house. "How they found him dead in his house along with four women he kept as captives."
As expected, his eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me with suspicion. I quickly elaborate before he connects the dots. "I have contact with one reporter. He's...quiet enthusiastic about these things and he discovered some classified documents. You must remember what they were about, I presume."
"Who is he?" He utters in a low ominous tone, staring daggers at me. "And where are these documents?" If he were real, his days would be numbered.
"I have them." I shrug lazily. "I'm not telling you anything else unless you explain to me why you did it. Why did you let our company cover up his crimes many years ago?"
He stays silent until the only sound in the room is the ticking of the clock on the wall. We stare at each other as if in a staring contest. Neither of us looking away. He must be wondering if I'm recording all this. As for me, I'm not sure what my face reveals. I'm trying to keep my emotions in check, which I admit is hard, since I'm seething with anger and hurt underneath.
The clock ticks on, marking the seconds as we continue our silent standoff, and I realize this is the longest conversation I have ever had with my dad.
"He had... connections," he says finally. "He knew people in high places. People who could help us, who could provide us with opportunities and favors. He would have won the case even if we didn't support him. But being involved meant access to those connections. So we helped him, and he helped us. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."
He seems to have calmed down from his initial shock that I knew his secrets. And have now accepted that fact.
"Tell me, Clara. How long have you known all this?" He says as he nonchalantly sips his coffee.
"Just recently. I've been secretly gathering evidence. And I'm simply horrified that you would do such a thing." I say, making sure I've said what needed to be said.
"But if you want the truth. Then, I've always known." I continue and look at him closely as I finally let the words out. "I knew every word out of you was a lie and you were a bad person ever since that day I overheard you and Mom talk about my origins."
Surprise flashes across his features, but he gives a subtle smile. "Ah. So know."
"I started to question everything. When I was big enough, I got some people to look into it. And then I got some to look into you and our company. Curiosity is a dangerous thing. A double-edged sword, sometimes." I answer wistfully as I lean back into the chair.
"Then what changed? Why confront me now when you've done such a good job of staying silent?" He asks as he taps the rim of his white mug.
I open my mouth to answer him, but...I can't find the right words. My mind is a jumbled mess of alphabets, and I'm having trouble arranging them into a sentence. "Because...I saw the pictures of the women in Alexander's basement. And I couldn't believe we were wicked enough to support such a monster." But it doesn't sound like a solid enough reason. It sounds like I'm just upset and making it up.
"Listen," He says as he stands up, his joints popping in response. "Do you really think there are truly innocent and honest people in this world? That no one has ever been selfish or thought about their needs above others?"
"That's a ridiculous justification for what you did." I glare at him.
He sighs and starts walking away from his seat, moving around me. I keep watching him closely.
"Point is, we are all monsters one way or another. Whether we're pulling others down to get something or using them to get to where we are, we're all the same. Even the bystanders who watch it all go down." My fists clench at his words. "And the higher up you are on the ladder, the harder it becomes for you to keep your hands clean. That's just business." He walks over to a record player that stands on a table beside a support beam to the small staircase that leads to the upper section.
"A person who works honestly in his life can either focus on his integrity and morality, or he can aim for success and happiness. These two never go hand in hand. And the latter doesn't come that easily." He sounds just like grandmother. No wonder he's her favorite.
He carefully places a record on the player, and as the needle touches the spinning disk, the room is filled with the rich sound of classical music.
What is he doing?
"Everything I did, and everything I do, has always been for my family," he says, with his back still turned to me as he inspects the vinyl cover, unbothered. "To ensure that everyone gets the best. The best education, the best opportunities, the best life." He glances at me as he steps back towards his desk "Even someone like you."
The needle skips over a scratch or an imperfection in the record.
And there it is. My breath halts as I brace for his words.
"People only see you as an inconvenience. Your own father wanted to throw you away, even murder you perhaps, after you killed your mother at birth. But we kept you with us. We let you live in our house. We let you eat our food, sleep under our roof, wear all the luxury brands you could get your hands on and use our family status like a free-for-all card. You can still keep doing that if you continue to ignore the truth. Live however you want. I'll make your mom give you that freedom, and any mistakes you make, I will cover them up for you. Just be grateful and stay ignorant." He says, sitting down on his chair, trying to make me understand. To see how idiotic I'm acting right now.
But I'm not having any of it.
My fingers close around the pistol in my bag. I draw it out and level it at him, every nerve on fire, every heartbeat hammering in my ears. I expect him to react. To flinch, to show some sign of surprise or alarm.
But instead, he remains perfectly still. As if he's been expecting this moment all along.