Chapter 4

Over the next two weeks, Alexander and I spent practically every night at the Architectural Review office.

At first, we'd still exchange polite pleasantries—"Thank you for your help," "You don't need to work so hard"—but gradually, we grew accustomed to working side by side in silence until the early hours.

He would quietly dim my computer screen when I was exhausted and slumped over my desk. I would replace his cold coffee with hot when he was absorbed in research.

No romantic words were exchanged—just two people desperately fighting for the same goal.

But after more than ten days, we had almost nothing to show for it. Vivienne's background was airtight, and the family's transaction records had been scrubbed clean.

I was beginning to suspect that maybe I was just chasing shadows.

"Maybe we're wrong," I said wearily two nights ago. "Maybe we'll never find evidence. Maybe they've covered their tracks too well."

Alexander didn't comfort me. He just kept typing. "In my experience, when all evidence points to 'perfect,' it usually means someone is deliberately covering something up."

Last night, when I was once again furious enough to throw something after seeing those disgusting transaction records between Father and David, Alexander simply said calmly, "Professor Elena once taught me that anger is an architect's greatest enemy, because it clouds our sound judgment."

I stopped mid-motion, about to hurl the cup. Not because his words were particularly moving, but because only he truly understood what I was fighting for.

But honestly, I was ready to give up. Tomorrow was my 25th birthday, and if we found nothing tonight, maybe I should face reality—I could never beat them.

And tonight, on the eve of my 25th birthday, just when I was about to despair, our efforts finally paid off.

At 11 PM, I sat in the chair I'd grown familiar with, watching Alexander type, my heart holding onto one last shred of hope.

"Found it!" Alexander suddenly stopped and turned to me. "Catherine, your 'cousin' has a major problem."

"What problem?" I rushed over to look at the screen, my heart racing.

"Student records from the Swiss Institute of Architecture." Alexander pointed at the screen. "I contacted friends in Europe who helped me check Vivienne Bennett's enrollment records."

I frowned. "And?"

"There are no records." Alexander's expression was grave. "No one by that name has ever been enrolled at this institute."

"What?" I was so shocked I nearly jumped out of my chair. "Her diploma is fake?"

"It's not just about a fake diploma." Alexander opened another folder. "Look at this."

The screen displayed two design drawings side by side. On the left was the commercial complex design Vivienne had presented to the board. On the right was a hand-drawn sketch.

I gasped. "This design... I've seen similar concepts in Mom's manuscripts!"

"Catherine, this isn't 'similar'—this is almost identical! Vivienne just changed the community functions to commercial ones."

I felt my blood turn to ice. "She... she's been stealing Mom's design concepts?"

"More than that." Alexander pulled up more files. "Look at these. Every design proposal she's submitted over the past two years—I can trace the prototype back to Professor Elena's published works or theoretical papers."

"My God..." I collapsed into my chair. "No wonder her designs always felt so 'familiar.' She's not a genius designer—she's a thief!"

Thinking of Vivienne's smug expression at the board meeting, her shameless theft of Mom's life's work, the rage in my chest felt like it would burn through my ribs.

Alexander continued typing. "There's something even stranger. I found that Vivienne has a Swiss bank account that regularly receives transfers from a company called 'Alpine Design Group.'"

"Alpine Design Group?"

"A mysterious European design company. Its registered address is in the same city as the Swiss architecture school she claims to have attended."

BOOM—

I felt thunder exploding in my brain. I shot to my feet, hands planted on the desk:

"Alex, are you saying Vivienne not only faked her credentials but might also be connected to some international design theft ring?"

"The evidence points in that direction." Alexander saved all the files. "Catherine, your 'cousin's' true identity might be far more complex than we imagined."

I felt the world spinning. I'd thought I was only facing internal family power struggles, never imagining there might be deeper conspiracies lurking beneath.

A fraud, living in my house all this time, stealing Mom's designs, and trying to destroy her buildings...

And that stock ownership document I'd found earlier, with the crossed-out "special clause"—could that also be connected to Vivienne?

"We need more evidence." I said through gritted teeth. "If Vivienne really is a fraud, then who is she? What's her real purpose with the Bennett family?"

Alexander shut down the computer, his eyes gleaming with the dogged determination characteristic of journalists:

"Don't worry, Catherine. The truth always surfaces. And I have a feeling Vivienne Bennett's story is far more fascinating than what we've seen so far."

I stared out at New York's neon lights, the rage in my chest transforming into steely resolve.

Tomorrow was my 25th birthday. The game was just beginning, Vivienne.

I would make you pay.