Chapter 11: Project Phoenix
The name followed me all the way back to campus.
Project Phoenix.
It sounded like something from a movie.
Not my life.
Not my family.
But nothing about my life felt normal anymore.
When I entered the investigation room, Detective Miles was already waiting.
The file sat on the table.
A thick black folder.
Old.
Worn.
Like someone had tried very hard to destroy it.
“Where did you find it?”” I asked.
Miles looked at me.
“In your father’s company archives.””
“My father kept evidence against himself?””
“Not intentionally.””
He opened the folder.
Inside were financial reports.
Emails.
Private notes.
And one page that made my hands go cold.
Project Phoenix.
Subject: Simone Hale.
I stared.
“My name.””
Miles nodded.
“Yes.””
I picked up the document.
The first line read:
*Objective: Maintain control of inherited assets until subject reaches legal independence.*
My stomach twisted.
“Maintain control?””
Camille stood beside me.
“They were waiting for you to become an adult.””
I turned the page.
The next section was worse.
*Risk assessment: Subject displays independence, intelligence, and resistance to authority.*
I laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was unbelievable.
They had written a report about me.
Like I was a threat.
Miles pointed to another paragraph.
“Keep reading.””
I did.
*Recommended action: Isolate subject from family support network. Encourage perception of failure. Establish financial instability.*
My vision blurred.
The room became quiet.
They didn’t just lie about me.
They built the lie.
Piece by piece.
Every rumor.
Every insult.
Every time they told someone I was irresponsible.
It was planned.
Camille covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.””
I kept reading.
Then I found the signature.
Richard Hale.
And beneath it…
Elaine Hale.
My mother.
I closed my eyes.
The pain was different now.
Before, I thought my mother had been weak.
Scared.
Manipulated.
But this document had her signature.
She had participated.
Miles spoke gently.
“Simone.””
I put the paper down.
“No.””
He stopped.
“I need a minute.””
I walked outside.
The air felt cold.
I sat on the steps and stared at students walking across campus.
People celebrating.
People taking photos.
People calling their families.
Normal moments.
I wondered what it felt like to have a family that celebrated your success instead of fearing it.
A shadow fell beside me.
I looked up.
Weston.
I almost told him to leave.
But I didn’t.
“I saw the file,” he said.
I looked away.
“Congratulations.””
He flinched.
“I deserve that.””
“Yes.””
Silence.
Then he sat beside me.
“I didn’t know about Project Phoenix.””
“But you knew enough.””
“Yes.””
He swallowed.
“I knew Dad wanted control.””
“You helped him.””
“I was scared.””
I looked at him.
“Everyone was scared.””
That stopped him.
Because it was true.
Everyone had a reason.
Everyone had fear.
Everyone had an excuse.
But I was the one who paid for all of it.
Weston whispered:
“Grandpa knew.””
I turned.
“What?””
“He knew Dad was planning something.””
“How?””
“Because he told me.””
My heart raced.
“When?””
“The week before he died.””
I stood.
“What did he say?””
Weston looked terrified.
“He told me if anything happened to him, I had to protect you.””
I stared.
“You were seventeen.””
“I know.””
“Why didn’t you?””
His eyes filled.
“Because Dad found out I knew.””
The anger inside me softened slightly.
Not disappeared.
Just changed.
“What did he do?””
Weston looked at the ground.
“He showed me the insurance policy.””
I froze.
“What?””
“He told me if I didn’t cooperate, he would make sure I lost everything.””
I whispered:
“Cooperate how?””
Weston looked at me.
“I had to help convince you that nobody believed in you.””
The words hurt.
More than I expected.
Because I remembered.
Every birthday.
Every holiday.
Every conversation where Weston acted like I was the problem.
He wasn’t just watching.
He was part of it.
“I’m sorry.””
I looked away.
“I know.””
A notification appeared on my phone.
A message from Victor.
*You found Project Phoenix. Good.*
I frowned.
Another message appeared.
*Now find Project Phoenix’s second subject.*
My heart started pounding.
Second subject?
I typed back.
Who?
The response came immediately.
*Weston Hale.*
I looked at my brother.
He saw my face change.
“What?””
I turned my phone toward him.
His expression disappeared.
May you like
Because beneath Victor’s message was one final line.
*Your brother was never just a beneficiary. He was the backup plan.*
