The Daughter They Threw Away

I dialed another number.

"Tyler Whitney, Tax Investigation Division. We have jurisdiction over Ascend Corporation, correct?"

"Yes, Director Whitmore."

"Richard Whitmore recently brought in a new protégé. Focus your attention there."

"Understood."

For the next few days, I buried myself in the tax audit, ignoring every call from the Whitmore residence.

Until I was cornered outside my office building after work.

Margaret stepped out of a waiting car, blocking my path.

"Rena, I finally found you. Your father's waiting at home." She sighed. "Stop being difficult. You haven't been back in nearly a month. Come home tonight. We're family—there's nothing we can't work out."

I wanted to refuse. But my superior's car was still parked behind me. I didn't want a scene. Gritting my teeth, I stepped into the vehicle.

When we arrived, the front door opened to a picture-perfect tableau: Vanessa pouring tea for Richard at the head of the table.

He looked up, brow furrowing instantly.

"So, you finally decided to show your face."

"If I'm unwelcome, I can leave. I'm quite busy."

I turned on my heel.

Margaret caught my arm.

Richard scoffed. "Busy? With what?"

"Work."

"Work?" A sneer curled his lip. "Some low-level job paying two or three thousand a month, and you think that justifies this attitude? Without my support, what decent job could you possibly find?"

"Support?"

I almost laughed.

"Mr. Whitmore, from childhood to adulthood, what exactly have you supported me in?"

He froze.

"Other fathers—even those with nothing—wouldn't dream of snatching opportunities from their own daughter. But you're different." I met his gaze, voice steady. "Even when your daughter succeeds on her own merits, you beat her down. Your 'support' is reserved for outsiders. You've never extended a hand to me. Since you've given me nothing, what right do you have to threaten to take it away?"

"You—!"

Richard shot to his feet, face darkening.

Vanessa rushed forward, grabbing my hand with feigned desperation. "Sister! How can you talk to Dad like that? Apologize! He's still our father!"

Richard clutched his chest, finger trembling as he pointed at me. "You see this? This is exactly why I help Nessa and not you!"

Margaret rushed to rub his back, shooting me a look of reproach. "Rena, I didn't bring you home to start a war. Look at Nessa—why can't you be sensible like her? Apologize!"

I shook off Vanessa's hand.

"I'm not sensible. Fine. As long as Vanessa is. After all, you've never treated me as a daughter anyway."

"How dare you!" Richard roared.

"Am I wrong?"

Crash.

A teacup shattered at my feet.

"Fine. Go! I want to see what you can amount to in this city without me! Get out!"

Vanessa reached out as if to stop me—her fingers grazing my sleeve in a calculated miss. She looked distressed, acting powerless.

"Sister, don't throw a tantrum! Just apologize!"

"Nessa, let her go!" Richard shouted. "Ungrateful wretch! When she hits a wall, she'll realize how wrong she was!"

Even hardened as I was, hearing my family openly favor an outsider still stung. Heat pricked my eyes.

I blinked it away, turned, and walked out. Hailed a taxi. Didn't look back.

Back at my office, a file sat on my desk—Tyler's latest findings.

I flipped through the financial records. A cold smile touched my lips as I slammed it shut.

"I knew it. Vanessa isn't clean."

The year-end inspection had arrived. Downstairs at Ascend Corporation headquarters, the official vehicles pulled up to the curb.

My team bypassed reception and marched straight toward Vanessa's office.

"Investigate me?"

Hearing the commotion, she looked up from her desk, scoffing. "Do you have any idea who I am? Who authorized this?"

"I did."

The color drained from her face.

My team parted, carving a path. I walked through, badge raised.

"Serena Whitmore, Director of Tax Investigation Division One. We've uncovered substantial evidence of tax evasion and underreported income. You are required to cooperate."