Five Years Wasted Now They Beg Her Back novel Chapter 287

Cassian… her older brother.

Her brother, who was always so high and mighty, so self-righteously aloof.

So, he was part of it, too…

Five hundred thousand dollars.

Was that all her uncle's life was worth to him?

Grace felt her stomach churn, and the nausea she had been suppressing surged up.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, bolted from the room, and retched over the rust-covered railing.

Nothing came up.

Only the bitter taste of bile filled her mouth.

"Grace!"

Damien rushed over, catching her as she swayed on her feet.

Grace shoved him away with surprising strength.

"Don't touch me!"

She shrieked, the tears finally breaking free.

"Damien, did you know all along?"

She pointed back at the room, at the phone. "Did you know that besides the Clarkes, he… he was one of the ones who killed my uncle?!"

Damien's heart twisted as he watched her break down.

He wanted to hold her, but he didn't dare.

He pulled a file from his coat and held it out to her.

It was from the Clarke family's sealed archives.

"These are the meeting minutes from back then."

Damien's voice trembled slightly. "My father… he did try to stop Reginald. He even wanted to give your uncle money privately, to help him leave Jarrow City."

"But Reginald had bought off your brother, Cassian."

"Cassian stole the core data your uncle was planning to use for his comeback and gave it to Reginald."

As Grace listened, her body slowly slid to the ground.

She collapsed onto the cold concrete, the rain soaking her face, making it impossible to tell tears from rainwater.

She had always thought the Hart family was just cold, just biased.

She thought they just didn't love her.

But for five hundred thousand dollars, they had personally sent her own uncle to his death!

"Ha… hahaha…"

Grace suddenly started laughing.

The sound was chilling, echoing through the rainy night and making one's skin crawl.

"What a fine family, the Harts… what a fine family of intellectuals…"

Her pants were splattered with mud. The overcoat Damien had given her was neatly folded on a nearby stone step.

She didn't want to owe him anything.

In the photograph on the tombstone, Bastian Hawke wore a gentle smile.

He was still young, frozen at thirty-five years old.

Back then, he would always ruffle Grace's hair and say, "Our Grace is going to be a great scientist someday, even better than her uncle."

"Uncle…"

Grace reached out, her fingertips lightly touching the cold photograph.

"I found them all."

"Cassian… I thought he just hurt me. I just… I never imagined he would have you killed for money."

"I swear, I will make him pay."

"But Uncle, I'm not happy."

Grace pressed her face against the cold stone, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "I'm not happy at all."

"I know the truth, but what good is it?"

"You're not coming back."

"And my leg will never heal."

It turned out revenge wasn't the clean, satisfying release you read about in stories.