Chapter 10
The Figueroa family had taken every major project and even poached more than half of the company’s top engineers.
The group was now nothing but an empty shell.
I handed Christopher all the core technical files, the list of suppliers willing to give us the lowest prices, and the names of our best engineers.
Even the video where Katherine pointed the finger at Joseph had been arranged by me.
She deserved to die. But as her father, Joseph, deserved it even more.
When the footage of Joyce’s bloody, nail-pierced body spread online, the internet exploded in outrage.
Public opinion was unanimous.
More and more voices demanded that such scum be severely punished.
Even the police stepped in.
Reuben
gave Joseph one last look, lips pressed into a tight line, before turning to leave.
When the hall fell silent, he slowly walked over to me.
In the tone of someone making small talk, he asked, “Samantha, does this make you feel any better?”
I lifted my head and stared at him like I was looking at a corpse.
For the first time, I actually spoke to him. “Better? My life was buried with Joyce. How could I feel bet- ter? I’m alive for one reason only-to watch you get the punishment you deserve.”
It was as if he had already expected my answer.
He didn’t defend himself or beg for forgiveness.
He just nodded over and over, muttering, “Yes… I should be punished.”
He must have known I had been the one pulling the strings all along.
But instead of anger, his face showed only relief-like a man finally set free.
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He gave me one last deep look, then turned and walked alone into his study.
The door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
I stood outside, waiting in silence.
Seconds ticked by.
Somewhere inside, I thought I heard the sound of a hammer pounding over and over.
I didn’t move.
Moments later, a group of police officers rushed upstairs.
One of them held out a search warrant. “Mrs. Barnes, we’re here to arrest Joseph Barnes. Where is he?”
I pointed at the study.
Without another word, one officer kicked the door open.
A female officer at the back let out an involuntary gasp.
Joseph was pinned to the pristine white wall, a long spike as thick as a finger driven straight through his heart.
A dark, blooming spray of blood spread out behind him.
The desk was littered with uneven, half-used nails.
In his hand, he still clutched a hammer, its face soaked in red, dripping onto the floor.
The spike in his chest was the very same one that had pierced Joyce’s heart.
The room was silent, and everyone’s expression was unreadable.
After a long moment, I stepped inside, looked at the lead officer, and said evenly, “Didn’t you come to take him away? Taking his body works just as well.”
My voice was calm, as if I were discussing what to have for dinner.
When the police car finally roared away, I picked up Joyce’s photo, dragged my suitcase to the front gate, and left the Barnes’s estate.
Before leaving, I doused the grounds in gasoline.
One match, and the last decade of my life-every joy, every pain, every struggle-went up in flames.
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I had just gotten into the car when Christopher called. “I kept my word. Katherine is dead. I gave her the remaining 200 nails as a gift.”
“Thank you,” I said, my tone flat. “The Barnes family is yours now.”
There was a slight pause on the line, then he asked, “What will you
do next?”
It took me a long time to answer. “I’m taking Joyce to see the world. It was her wish.”
