Chapter 4 - The Ashcroft SecretThe rain lashed harder against the bedroom window as Rachel recounted a nightmare that spanned a decade.
“Ten years ago, when I was pregnant with the twins, I discovered a secret ledger inside Ashcroft Engineering’s private archives,” Rachel whispered, pausing to catch her breath. “Jonathan Ashcroft wasn't just evading taxes. He was systematically dumping toxic industrial waste into the city’s southern water supply to cut construction costs. Entire neighborhoods—working-class families, children—were getting sick.”
Dylan’s expression hardened into stone. He knew the Ashcrofts were ruthless, but ecotoxicity on that scale was a federal penitentiary offense.
“I confronted Jonathan,” Rachel continued, her voice trembling. “He smiled at me, poured me a glass of champagne, and told me that idealism doesn't pay the bills. When I threatened to take the ledger to the EPA, he didn't fire me. He framed me. They planted forged wire-transfer receipts in my bank account, destroyed my professional license, and threatened to kill me and my unborn children if I ever uttered a word.”
She gripped Dylan’s sleeve with surprising strength.
“They fired me, evicted me from my apartment, and blacklisted me from every industry in the country. I changed my last name to Wittmann—my mother’s maiden name—and worked three illegal cleaning jobs just to keep my babies fed in the dark. But last week... I think someone from their security team saw me at the downtown hotel. Since then, strange cars have been parked outside this house.”
Silence descended upon the room, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator down the hall.
Dylan slowly stood up. The billionaire philanthropist was gone. In his place stood a man whose wrath was about to be unleashed.
“They threw you away like trash,” Dylan said quietly, his voice dangerously cold. “And they made your daughters starve in the shadow of their empire.”
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He looked down at Sophie and Laya, who were watching him with wide, trusting eyes.
“Pack a bag,” Dylan commanded gently. “You’re not staying here another minute.”
