Chapter 7 - The Poisoned LegacyBy dawn, the wrought-iron gates of the Kensington estate were completely surrounded by a ravenous pack of news vans, paparazzi, and camera crews. Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the morning fog as police escort vehicles arrived to usher Daniel to the Scotland Yard station for questioning.
Inside the mansion, chaos reigned. Phones were ringing off the hook. Daniel's legal team was frantically pacing the study, shouting into satellite phones while reviewing the leaked documents.
"It's a masterclass in forgery," Daniel's chief legal counsel, Arthur Pendelton, declared, slamming a folder onto the desk. "The documents use authentic hospital letterhead from Clara's clinic, but the toxicological signatures have been fabricated. Someone with high-level access paid off a low-level administrator at the hospital to slip these forged files into the digital archive three days ago!"
"Julian Thorne," Daniel spat out, pacing like a caged panther. "It has to be Julian. He was the only one with the financial resources and the corporate motive to pull something like this off."
"We can't prove it yet, Daniel," Arthur warned. "Right now, the public narrative is vicious. The press is calling you a murderer who covered up his wife's death to secure his inheritance and corporate control. If you go out there and say nothing, the board will execute an emergency vote to remove you permanently before the sun sets."
Arya entered the study, holding Oliver and Sophie by their hands. The twins looked terrified by the flashing news lights visible through the high windows and the tense energy radiating from the adults.
Oliver signed frantically to Arya: Why are the police outside? Is Dad in trouble? Is the bad nanny back?
Arya knelt down, keeping her voice and body language totally calm. Dad is not in trouble. Some bad people told lies. Dad is going to clear up the lies today. We are totally safe.
Sophie looked at her father, walking over and wrapping her small fingers around his hand. She signed to him: Don't leave us, Dad.
Daniel knelt down and pulled both twins into a tight, desperate embrace. I am never leaving you, he signed with total conviction, kissing their foreheads. I will be back before dinner. I promise.
He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket, and looked at Arya. The fear in his eyes was palpable, but beneath it lay a fierce, protective steel.
"Keep them inside," Daniel begged softly. "Don't let them look at the televisions or the news. Arya... if this goes completely wrong..."
"It won't," Arya interrupted firmly, stepping up and placing her hand gently on his chest. "You are innocent. Oliver and Sophie know it, and I know it. Go defeat them, Daniel."
Daniel looked into her eyes, drew immense strength from her belief in him, nodded sharply, and turned to face the media circus outside.
As Daniel’s motorcade pushed through the screaming crowd of journalists at the gates, Arya locked down the mansion. She turned off all the televisions, drew the thick velvet curtains, and led the children to the quietest room in the house: the art studio.
For hours, Arya kept the children distracted, finger-painting, building elaborate BSL puppet shows, and playing games. But inside, Arya was spiraling with anxiety. She knew that Julian Thorne and Victoria Vance wouldn't stop at just ruining Daniel. If Daniel was destroyed, Mrs. Harrison's legal team would appeal her conviction, and the children would be thrown into a vicious custody battle among greedy distant relatives who cared nothing for BSL or their well-being.
At 2:00 PM, while the children were engrossed in painting a massive canvas dragon, Arya’s personal cell phone buzzed with an unknown number.
She answered cautiously. "Hello?"
"Miss Santos," a sharp, sneering female voice spoke through the receiver. It was Victoria Vance.
"How did you get my number?" Arya demanded, stepping out into the hallway, away from the children.
"Oh, please. Money buys everything," Victoria scoffed coolly. "I'm calling to give you a friendly piece of advice, little girl. Daniel Reed is finished. Scotland Yard is preparing a formal indictment for corporate fraud and obstruction of justice. By tonight, his assets will be frozen."
"He didn't do anything wrong, Victoria, and you know it!" Arya snapped, her fists clenching tightly.
"It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do," Victoria purred venomously. "What matters is what the public believes. But I'm feeling generous. If you pack your cheap duffel bag, take the kids, and hand them over to my private security team right now, I will ensure you receive a five-million-pound payout. You can live like a queen for the rest of your life."
Arya’s blood ran ice-cold. "Hand them over to you? Why on earth would you want the children?"
"Because as Clara's nearest surviving aristocratic cousin, I will assume legal guardianship over the Reed estate," Victoria smirked. "The children will be quietly placed in a high-security residential care facility in Zurich, and I will control their trust funds until they turn twenty-five. Everyone wins. Except Daniel, of course."
Arya felt an overwhelming wave of pure disgust. "You are a monster," Arya hissed. "You and Julian forged those documents, didn't you?"
"You can't prove a single thing, Arya Santos," Victoria laughed coldly. "You have two hours before my legal team arrives at the gates with a emergency court order for temporary custody. Take the money and run, or go down with the sinking ship."
The line went dead.
Arya stood in the hallway, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She looked back through the open door of the art studio, where Oliver and Sophie were laughing, wiping blue paint across each other's noses, entirely unaware that their lives were being auctioned off by vultures.
Arya pulled out her phone. She didn't call the police—she knew Victoria had friends in high places. She didn't call Daniel—he was currently in an interrogation room without his phone.
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Instead, Arya called the one person who knew more about corporate secrets than anyone else in London: her old college roommate, Mia, who was now a senior cyber-forensic analyst for the National Crime Agency.
"Mia," Arya said, her voice shaking with desperate determination. "I need you to run an emergency digital trace on a hospital server in Central London. Right now."
