MY SISTER RIPPED UP MY $108,000 JOB OFFER ON GRADUATION DAY—BUT TEN MINUTES LATER, THE COMPANY'S COO WALKED ONSTAGE AND SAID MY NAME.

The smear campaign was designed to break me, but it had one fatal flaw: Eleanor and Madison assumed I was still the terrified, apologetic girl who lived in their Cincinnati basement.

They didn't know I had spent the last seventy-two hours scanning every financial document, bank statement, and tax filing from the last decade.

Sitting in my temporary workspace on the 59th floor long after the corporate staff had gone home for the evening, I drafted a counter-offensive. I didn't hire a PR firm. I didn't engage in an emotional online back-and-forth.

I called Arthur Vance.

"Arthur," I said into the phone, the lights of Chicago glittering outside my window like scattered diamonds. "Release the Cincinnati probate filings. All of them."

"Are you sure, Leah?" Arthur’s voice was solemn. "Once this goes public, there will be no family left to salvage. Eleanor could face federal wire fraud charges."

"She made her choice when she sold my father's memory," I answered. "Burn it down."

At 10:15 PM, Arthur Vance’s legal office published a verified, notarized press release through the PR Newswire network, backed by certified court exhibits:

Exhibit A: Bank statements proving Eleanor Morgan had received over $450,000 in child support and private equity stipends from Paul Morgan’s estate between 2010 and 2018—funds she had entirely diverted into luxury retail, day-spa visits, and high-end automotive leases.

Exhibit B: University tuition records showing that I had worked three campus jobs while maintaining a 3.98 GPA, while Madison’s tuition had been funded through secondary private loans taken out fraudulently under my deceased father’s Social Security number.

Exhibit C: A sworn deposition from the manager of Giovanni’s Italian Ristorante detailing how Madison and Eleanor had racked up an unpaid $3,100 bill, smashed wine glasses, and demanded the restaurant charge an absent Leah Morgan without authorization.

Within two hours, the internet did what the internet does best: it turned with terrifying, biblical fury.

The hashtag #JusticeForLeah exploded across Twitter and TikTok. The original video Madison had posted became an operational crime scene of public ridicule. Influencers broke down Madison's designer wardrobe, proving that the 'destitute' sister had been vacationing in Cabo three weeks prior on credit cards opened under forged signatures.

My phone rang at midnight.

It was Madison. Her voice was unrecognizable—a broken, choking shriek of pure panic.

"Leah! Leah, please pick up! Mom had a panic attack! The police just came to our front door with a summons from the state attorney’s office! They’re saying Mom committed identity theft!"

"She did," I said, sitting quietly in my empty apartment, looking out at the rain streaking down the glass.

"You have to drop it! You have to tell them it was a misunderstanding!" Madison sobbed hysterically. "My followers are doxxing me! They’re posting my address! The boutique canceled my internship! My life is ruined, Leah! You ruined my life!"

"No, Madison," I said, my voice as cold and clear as mountain ice. "You ruined your own life the second you tore up that paper on my graduation day. You wanted everyone to look at you. Well, now they are."

I hung up the phone and blocked her number permanently.

Then I opened my laptop and loaded the encrypted files Celia had provided. Tomorrow was the Meridian Logistics live integration demonstration.

The counter on Prometheus was at 9,999,850,000.