Chapter 3

Then I logged into the company's change system, used the seal and the digital authorization Ashford had given me, and swapped his name for mine as the legal rep.

The whole thing took forty minutes.

I printed out the screenshot, grabbed the seven transfer receipts, and stuffed them all into a brown envelope.

I scribbled a note on the envelope: [All debts cleared. Ashford has nothing to do with this. Liam Peyton.]

I set it down by his pillow and looked at him one last time.

He rolled over, mumbling something I couldn't catch.

I walked out of the office.

I closed the door as quietly as I could, making sure not to make a sound.

As the elevator descended, I leaned against the cold metal wall, my legs so weak I could barely stand.

When I stepped out of the building, the autumn wind cut right through my collar.

I dialed a number.

"Hello? Who's this?" a man's voice answered.

"Mr. Ward, my name is Liam Peyton. I'm the current legal representative of Peyton Group." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I'm turning myself in."

Ashford was woken up by Finnian Voss.

Finnian was his right-hand man, sticking by his side for fifteen years—from the days when Peyton Group was nearly bankrupt, all the way to now.

That morning, when Finnian pushed open the office door, Ashford was still on the couch.

"Mr. Peyton," Finnian said.

Ashford opened his eyes and immediately reached for his phone, checking if there were any calls from the bank about the debt.

Then he spotted the brown envelope right by his pillow.

The first thing he saw inside was a screenshot.

It was the official record showing the legal representative had changed from Ashford Peyton to Liam Peyton.

Then he saw the seven transfer receipts and that single line scribbled on the envelope. [All debts cleared. Ashford has nothing to do with this. Liam Peyton.]

He didn't say a word.

Finnian later described the scene to others. He said Ashford just stood there, holding the envelope for about five minutes, didn't move an inch, like his face was frozen.

Then he crumpled the envelope and slammed it down on the floor.

"12 million dollars." Ashford forced the words out from the bottom of his throat.

"He stole all the money that was supposed to pay the employees."

He didn't even check who the money went to. Or maybe he did, but he was too furious to care.

All he saw was one thing—his brother took the company seal and emptied out the account.

Finnian said that morning, Ashford smashed everything in the office he could get his hands on.

The computer screen was shattered, the glass coffee table cracked, and the antique statue from his father got swept off the desk, shattering into pieces across the floor.

He crouched in the middle of the wreckage, gripping his hair with both hands, his shoulders shaking.

"I treated him like family," Ashford said, his lips trembling. "Twenty-seven years, I called him my brother, and when I was at my lowest, he turned on me like a rabid dog and drained every last drop from me."

After that day, Ashford never spoke my name again.

He gritted his teeth and survived. He went to every employee, apologized in person, and left promissory notes for their pay.

Later, it was confirmed that the money really had reached the creditors, and the criminal charges were dropped. But Ashford was convinced Liam had just pulled a fast one to make himself look innocent after stealing the cash.

He clawed his way out of the ashes.

He tackled one project after another, earning every dollar himself.

Three years to clear the debts, five to rebuild Peyton Group, eight to go public, ten to dominate the industry—and twelve years later, he was the richest man in the country.

Finnian said Ashford always kept something locked in his office drawer.