Chapter 4: Breaking the Illusion
1109 Words
The Hart mansion felt colder as the days wore on, despite the summer heat pressing against the windows. Selena walked through its grand halls like a ghost, her heels echoing off the marble as if marking the end of an era.
After her confrontation with Marcus, she expected fallout. Instead, she got silence.
That silence was more telling than words.
Marcus didn’t call, didn’t text. Clara hadn’t mentioned him once in two days. But Selena could feel the tension. She watched from the shadows of the estate—the way Clara paced when she thought no one was watching, how her fingers trembled when opening emails.
Clara was unraveling.
Selena could only smile.
At breakfast Monday morning, their mother arrived late and irritable, muttering about scheduling conflicts and missing donations. She didn’t sit—just paced behind the table with a furrowed brow.
“Someone’s been spreading rumors,” Joanna snapped. “About the Foundation’s finances.”
Clara looked up sharply. “What kind of rumors?”
“That we’ve been misallocating funds. A reporter called this morning.”
Selena hid her smirk behind her coffee cup.
Clara’s fork clinked against her plate. “That’s ridiculous. Everything is accounted for—”
Joanna cut her off. “Is it? Because this is the second donor this week asking to freeze their contributions.”
Selena finally spoke. “Maybe someone’s been… a little careless.”
Clara glared at her. “What are you implying?”
Joanna’s eyes narrowed between them. “Is there something I should know?”
Clara stood abruptly. “I have a meeting. I’m not dealing with this.”
She stormed out of the room.
Joanna turned slowly to Selena. “You seem to know more than you’re saying.”
“I’ve been watching,” Selena replied simply. “And learning.”
Their mother didn’t respond. She just stared at her for a long moment before leaving the room in silence.
---
By the end of the day, Selena had received an anonymous email from a news reporter.
Subject line: Re: The Hart Foundation’s Numbers Don’t Add Up.
Inside was a single line:
I know you’re not the villain in this story.
Attached was a file.
Selena downloaded it and found receipts, wire transfers, and transaction screenshots she hadn’t even uncovered herself. Someone else was digging.
She smiled.
Now she wasn’t just fighting Clara.
She had allies.
—
On Wednesday, Selena visited the office of Charles Everleigh—the family’s trusted accountant. He had handled Hart finances for over a decade. A balding man with kind eyes and tired shoulders, he didn’t even blink when she showed up unannounced.
“Miss Hart,” he greeted, ushering her in. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“I need information,” she said, skipping pleasantries. “About Clara.”
He stiffened. “That’s confidential.”
“I’m not asking as her sister,” Selena said. “I’m asking as the woman cleaning up her mess before she brings the entire Foundation down.”
He studied her. “You’ve changed.”
“I died,” she said plainly. “Now I’m fixing it.”
After a long pause, Charles walked to his file cabinet and pulled out a folder. “You didn’t get this from me.”
Inside were records of Clara’s unauthorized withdrawals, expense discrepancies, and an off-shore account linked through shell vendors.
Selena didn’t even blink.
“Thank you,” she said.
As she turned to leave, Charles added softly, “She’s not worth saving, you know.”
Selena looked over her shoulder. “I’m not saving her. I’m exposing her.”
—
That night, Clara confronted her.
“Did you talk to Charles?”
Selena didn’t look up from her laptop. “I talk to a lot of people.”
“You’re trying to sabotage me.”
“I don’t need to. You’re doing that on your own.”
Clara’s voice trembled with fury. “I built everything while you hid in your room and cried over Marcus. You don’t get to judge me.”
Selena stood slowly. “You’re right. I cried. I trusted you. I trusted him. And both of you buried me while smiling at my funeral.”
Clara’s breath caught.
Selena stepped closer. “But guess what? I’m back. And now you get to feel what it’s like to be forgotten.”
She walked out before Clara could respond.
—
On Friday, Selena stood in front of the Hart Foundation board. Her mother sat at the head of the long conference table, Clara to her right, and six stone-faced members lined the rest.
Clara wore a red suit—her “power outfit.” Selena wore black.
Fitting.
“I’ve gathered you here,” Selena began, voice steady, “because this organization is in danger.”
Joanna narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Selena turned to the board. “Over the past three years, the Foundation has lost over $1.2 million in unauthorized transactions. I've brought copies of the financial records, vendor receipts, and off-shore transfers. All linked to Clara Hart.”
Gasps.
Clara shot to her feet. “You liar! You fabricated all of this!”
Selena pulled out her final weapon—a video file.
She hit play.
On-screen, Clara’s voice echoed through the boardroom. A recording from her private call to Marcus three months ago.
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got the budget handled. Just move the numbers around. No one actually reads the fine print.”
The room went still.
Joanna turned pale.
Clara looked like she’d been slapped.
“You recorded me?”
Selena’s voice was icy. “No. You recorded yourself.”
One of the board members leaned forward. “Miss Hart, we’ll need time to review this evidence. But effective immediately, Clara Hart is suspended pending full investigation.”
Clara let out a scream and lunged toward Selena, but security was already between them.
As Clara was dragged from the room, she shouted, “You think you’ve won, Selena? This isn’t over!”
Selena stared after her, calm as ice.
“It never really began,” she whispered.
—
That night, Selena stood alone on the rooftop garden. The city lights shimmered below, and a cool breeze rustled her coat.
Noah joined her quietly, two wine glasses in hand.
“You did it,” he said, handing her one.
“For now,” she replied.
He touched her shoulder. “You burned the illusion.”
Selena smiled. “Now it’s time to rebuild something real.”
They clinked glasses.
And far below, the ashes of the past began to settle.
- Writer
