Chapter 2

Monday morning at eight, I pushed through the glass doors of Bennett & Associates.

I'd deliberately arrived half an hour early, not to collect my thoughts, but to prepare for battle.

Dad's words from last night echoed in my mind, each syllable like a poisoned needle.

Land, plans... everything had been orchestrated from the beginning. I took a deep breath. Today, I wasn't coming to work—I was coming to fight.

The elevator doors opened, and several colleagues exchanged meaningful glances when they saw me, then simultaneously looked down at their phones. The elevator fell unusually silent.

"I heard last night's dinner at the Hayes' was quite eventful," one female colleague whispered deliberately.

"Shh, don't," another gestured for silence.

My face burned instantly. Clearly, news of the broken engagement had spread throughout the entire company.

The elevator stopped on the 12th floor. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

But when I walked toward my desk, I froze completely.

My desk was gone.

"Catherine?" Linda, the secretary, approached with an awkward expression. "Your workstation has been moved to... B1 level."

"B1 level?" I couldn't believe my ears. "The basement?"

"Yes, Mr. Bennett said you needed a... quiet environment to adjust your mood," Linda avoided my gaze. "The new office area is quite comfortable."

Blood rushed to my head. The basement? That used to be a storage room!

I turned to confront David but saw my brother standing at the conference room entrance with Vivienne beside him.

"Catherine!" Vivienne walked over with a sweet smile. "I heard about last night..."

"Shut up." I cut her off coldly.

"Catherine!" David's voice echoed across the entire office area. "Come here."

Every eye focused on me. I gritted my teeth and walked toward the conference room.

David stood in front of the projection screen, holding a document. Several department heads sat in the conference room, with Vivienne in the seat to David's right.

That used to be my seat.

"Considering your recent emotional state," David's tone was strictly business, devoid of any brotherly affection, "I've decided to transfer all your projects to Vivienne."

"What?" I nearly jumped up. "David, are you insane? Those are my projects!"

"Including the Brooklyn Community Cultural Center renovation proposal," David continued as if he hadn't heard my protest. "Vivienne will take over and implement her comprehensive new plan with greater commercial value."

That project embodied Mom's final design philosophy—her gift to the world!

"David, that's Mom's..."

"Mom's been dead for three years, Catherine." David's words pierced my heart like ice picks. "Bennett & Associates needs realistic commercial value, not sentimental decisions."

Vivienne stood up at the perfect moment, wearing a mask of fake concern: "Catherine, I know you're upset, but I promise I'll take good care of this project. I'll do my best to preserve Aunt Elena's design spirit..."

"Keep your fake sympathy!" I could no longer control my emotions. "You think I don't know what you're scheming?"

"Catherine!" David slammed the table. "Enough! Your emotions need adjustment. Go to the basement and do some basic work to cool down!"

The conference room fell dead silent. Everyone held their breath.

I looked around the room. Everyone looked like they were enjoying the spectacle. I realized this wasn't a spontaneous decision—it was a carefully orchestrated humiliation.

"Fine." I said slowly, my voice so calm it scared even me. "I'll remember everything that happened today."

I turned and walked out of the conference room.

Whispers followed behind me:

"Looks like she really is consumed by jealousy..."

"I heard she canceled the wedding out of spite. How petty."

"Vivienne is so excellent. Thank God the company finally has hope."

My fists clenched until my knuckles turned white, but I didn't look back.

I spent the entire day in this strange atmosphere. Everyone looked at me like they were watching a show, as if waiting to see me completely break down.

At six PM, most colleagues had left.

I sat in my "temporary office" in the basement—a converted storage room—facing a pile of menial filing work. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered intermittently, making harsh buzzing sounds.

My eyes were red with rage, but more than that, with indignation.

Then I heard voices from upstairs. I looked up—the sound was coming through the ventilation duct from the conference room directly above.

I quietly climbed onto a chair and moved closer to the vent.

"...Elena's old building can finally be monetized. Twenty-five million is a reasonable price."

It was Dad's voice!

My heart nearly stopped. He was talking about the Brooklyn Community Cultural Center that Mom designed!

"The cultural center's location is prime real estate," David's voice followed. "Residential development could triple the profit. Trump Organization has already confirmed—we can sign next week."

I felt all the blood rush to my head. Trump Organization? They were selling Mom's cultural center to Trump Organization?

"What about Catherine?" David asked. "If she finds out..."

"She won't," Dad's voice was cold and ruthless. "By the time the paperwork is done next week, even if she knows, it'll be too late. Besides, she's busy dealing with her emotional crisis right now."

Both men laughed heartlessly.

I covered my mouth with trembling hands, my vision swimming through unshed tears.

How dare they! That was Mom's life's work, her gift to the community! A haven built for artists who couldn't afford high rent!

Now these people wanted to tear it down and build luxury condos?

"If Elena's spirit is watching, she'd die of anger a second time," David's words reached my ears.

I couldn't hold back anymore—tears poured down my face.

I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to calm down. This wasn't the time to break down. I had to find a way to stop this.

I quietly left the office building and sat in a nearby café until late night, replaying the conversation I'd overheard. I needed to find evidence to stop this deal.

At eleven PM, only security guards remained in the office building.

I used my keycard to sneak back into Mom's former office. It had remained empty since her death—David claimed it was for "memorial purposes," but really he was just too lazy to clean it out.

Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting mottled shadows on the floor.

I turned on my phone's flashlight and began carefully searching through Mom's remaining files.

An hour later, I'd searched every visible place but found nothing.

Just as I sat in Mom's chair in despair, I couldn't help but survey this familiar space.

Traces of Mom's life remained here: the desk lamp she loved most because its light was gentle on the eyes; the photo on the wall of her first design project; architectural books neatly arranged on the shelf...

"Mom, if you were still here, what would you do?" I whispered to myself, my voice finally breaking as tears flooded my cheeks.

I remembered as a child, she often worked late into the night in this chair, and I would sneak in to watch her. She would always stop her work, hold me in her arms, and tell me: "Catherine, remember, architecture isn't just steel and concrete—it carries people's dreams and hopes."

Now these people wanted to destroy her dreams, and I was powerless to stop them.

Just as I reached out to touch her beloved desk lamp, my elbow accidentally knocked over an architectural dictionary off the shelf.

The book fell, revealing a small safe hidden behind it.

My heart started pounding. Mom had a safe? As if she was still secretly protecting me...