Page 47 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Our father leans back in his chair and exhales as though he’s bored with this line of questioning. “Every failure gets us closer to the right answer,” he reasons.

Natalie looks as though she’s physically holding herself back.

“Those are not failures. Those are people . People who felt they had no choice and no way to advocate for themselves when they were either forced or coerced into what they thought were legitimate pharmaceutical trials with zero compensation.”

William shrugs, the gesture so casual it makes my stomach churn. “You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment,” he says with maddening calm. “These people have laid the foundation for some of the greatest advancements this company has ever seen. Advancements that you and Silas have benefited from.”

The room falls silent, and while I can see the confusion still swirling in my sister’s eyes, I’ve never seen William more clearly.

It doesn’t matter what information we show him or how his decisions have harmed thousands. All he sees is progress and his stupid fucking legacy. When Natalie presents our offer, he’s going to say no.

Nausea churns.

This is where it comes from. The part of me that revels in control, that thrives in the darker, uglier corners of this world.

Is this what I’ll eventually become?

Natalie’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m not sure how long I’ve been lost in my own head. It sounds like they’ve been talking in circles, her calm unraveling with every response he gives.

Finally, she cuts off his latest comment about the trials’ benefits. “How do you not feel anything about this?” she demands. “How do you not feel a goddamn thing?”

His expression is almost amused. “Because, my beautiful daughter,” he says, his voice condescending, “this isn’t about feelings. I knew at a very young age you had too big a heart for this line of work. It turns out I was right.”

Disgust floods her face, her hands gripping the edge of the tablecloth like she might rip it apart.

William looks between us, the faintest flicker of impatience in his expression, but mostly, he seems entirely unbothered. He picks up his fork, as if he’s about to resume eating.

I can’t hold back anymore.

“How was Martin involved in all of this?” My words are low and sharp.

Our father pauses, brows knitting. “Martin?” he echoes, feigning surprise. “Why does that matter?”

“Did you really think that if we'd found these files, we also wouldn’t have seen he was helping you?”

William sighs, setting his fork down again with exaggerated care. “Martin handled logistics, and things I couldn’t be bothered with.”

Natalie inhales sharply. The weight of her stare on my profile could crumble buildings.

“And when he left,” I ask, running a hand over my chin. “You, what? Pinky promised to keep it a secret and hired someone else to do it?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t need to convince him of anything. He was just as complicit as I was, so we called it a draw. Although, all that involving him did was make it difficult to get rid of him when he started to overstep his bounds.”

Overstep his bounds.

My spine goes rigid at his choice of words. “Overstep how?”

William scoffs at the memory. “He started to think he could get away with anything. He became arrogant. Sloppy.”

“In what way?” I press, my voice sharp enough to cut through his practiced indifference.

He waves his hand dismissively as he reaches for his iced tea. His gaze flicks to Natalie for the briefest of moments over the top of his glass, and I see it. The slight shift in his expression.

I want to look at Natalie to see if she caught it too, but I can’t. My pulse quickening. “Overstep how?” I repeat.

He knows exactly what I’m asking, and for the first time, there’s something uneasy in the way he adjusts his posture. “He took liberties where he shouldn’t have.”

My stomach plummets. Natalie doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. My fingers curl into fists against the table, the rage simmering just beneath my skin. “Liberties,” I echo, my voice cold, flat. “Like the ones he took with your daughter?”

William doesn’t break eye contact with me, though there’s a slight flutter in his jaw muscle. “What he did was abhorrent,” he counters like a practiced politician. “And in the end, it gave me the excuse I needed to cut ties. It worked out for everyone involved.”

The room tilts.

He knew about my altercation with Martin when I caught him cornering Natalie in the hallway at that goddamn summer party.

I thought I’d kept the scene contained, smoothed over by the party's chaos and the fact that Martin limped off without saying a word. I should’ve known better.

Of course, William knew. He always knows.

And he did nothing.

He let it slide because it worked in his favor. Martin was a useful pawn, and Natalie’s safety was just another thing he was willing to gamble with to keep his empire intact.

Natalie’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor as she stands. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at William. Instead, she turns to me, her expression carefully blank except for the fury burning in her eyes.

She gives me a single, sharp nod. Then, with a grace that feels almost haunting, she walks toward the door. William watches her go, nothing more than a look of annoyance on the edges of his features.

And that’s all it takes. The last thread snaps.

Whatever part of me still hoped there was some humanity left in him, some shred of decency, disintegrates into nothing.

William looks at me, raising an eyebrow as if he expects me to follow Natalie’s lead as the door closes and automatically locks behind her.

Slowly, I reach into the inner pocket of my suit jacket until I touch the orange bottle, the hard surface cool against my skin. I pull it free and place it on the table between us. The sharp sound of plastic meeting polished wood cuts through the oppressive quiet like a gunshot.

William’s eyes flick down to the bottle. For a split second, there’s uncertainty there, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Elena’s warnings echo, but she can’t understand. Looking at William now, I know: this moment is mine.

And I’m going to savor it.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table, fingers loosely interlocked. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”

His gaze snaps up to meet mine, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Oh, I’m dying to hear this,” he says.

My mouth twitches.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” I reiterate quietly. “Cillian and several of my team members are stationed just outside this door. When I call him in, you’re going to hand him your phone. Then, he’s going to escort you back to your home.”

His brow creases. “And why, exactly, would I do that?” he asks, his voice laced with forced disinterest .

I continue as if he hadn’t spoken. “He is going to drive you home because you started developing a migraine during lunch and want to rest. Once you’re inside, you’ll have two options.”

He leans forward despite himself, unable to hide his curiosity—or perhaps his unease.

“The first option,” I say, holding up my index finger, “is that you accidentally take too many of your beta blockers, thinking it was your migraine prescription.” I nod to the pill bottle on the table holding the heart medication he’s been taking for a few years now.

“You’ll pass peacefully in your own home, and the world will mourn you as a martyr. ”

His shoulders stiffen, though his smirk remains in place. “And the second option?” he asks.

“The second option,” I answer, staring him dead in the eye, “is that we will drag you home and Cillian forces you to take them. You’ll still die, but there will be no martyrdom.

I will spend the rest of my life burning everything you’ve built to the ground.

The Wells name, the company, every ounce of respectability you’ve cultivated. I will destroy it all.”

The force behind my words seems to surprise him. He tries to mask it with a scoff, leaning back in his chair. “Do you think for a second I believe you’d go that far?”

A dark laugh escapes me, sharp and hollow. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Poison laces every syllable. “I’ve never been more disappointed to be a Wells or willing to torch it all.”

The insult burrows under his skin, and suddenly, he pushes back from the table, chair screeching. The mask of composure finally cracks. “How dare you threaten me—”

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

My voice doesn’t rise, it sinks.

The sound fills the room and vibrates off the walls. My eyes remain locked on his. There’s no son in me now. Just the man he built doesn’t know has dragged secrets out of stronger men with only this voice.

My father’s eyes widen, his fury momentarily eclipsed by something I’ve never seen before: hesitation. And then, slowly, he lowers himself back into his chair, though his glare never falters.

Power surges through me like an electric current. For the first time in my life, I hold all the cards. And it feels good.

“You have no remorse for what you’ve done and no plans to change. This ends now, one way or another.”

The same brown eyes that I stare at in the mirror every day glow with hatred. “I’m not the only one who has access to that information.” His voice is steady, but I catch the slight hitch in his breath. “If anything happens to me, they’ll release it.”

I smirk. “Liar.”

Uncertainty flashes across his face.

“I already combed through your personal servers,” I say with a flick of my hand. “You really should have invested in better security measures for those, like I told you years ago.”

His nostrils flare.

“But there’s nothing on them, which I assume was intentional,” I continue. “This company is the only thing you’ve ever truly cared about. You used it as a shield because if you burn, everyone burns. That’s always been your safety net.”

My father opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“You never trusted anyone else with that kind of power. That’s why Shaw never blackmailed you. You made sure there was no one who could destroy your stupid legacy but you.”

His eyes widen a fraction, and the muscle in his jaw flutters once before it locks back into place.

I examine my nail beds before speaking. “Now that we have that all cleared up—”

William’s palm slams against the table, rattling the glassware. “What gives you the right to play God, Silas?” he spits, face turning a new shade of red as each second passes. “You condemn me, and yet here you are, deciding life and death. What makes you any different? ”

“If you can’t see the difference,” I say with a shrug, “then there truly is no helping you.”

His body vibrates. “You think this will work?” he sputters, clinging to anything he can. “Someone will realize what you did. The timing is too coincidental. You think no one will question it?”

“Why would I kill you? It’s not as if any of your attempts to turn the board against me were successful. It would be insane for me to do something so horrific when I just have to wait until January.”

The corners of his mouth skew into a disgusted frown.

“But you’re right,” I agree, bobbing my head. “It would be hard to hide something like this if I weren’t prepared for it.”

William’s face pales.

There’s nothing but pure amusement in my words now. “You were just telling me a few weeks ago that my ego would be my downfall, but I’m not the one who missed what has been planned right under his nose.”

His breathing quickens.

“You didn’t think twice about Natalie picking you up from the office and leaving your own security behind because you’d be with your daughter and her team. You assumed, as always, you were untouchable.”

The fingers splayed on the table curl into a fist.

“That’s why we chose this restaurant,” I continue, gesturing lightly to the room around us. “No cameras. No documented reservations. Nothing to connect this meeting to anything or anyone.

“How convenient that Cillian happened to be in the area to give you a ride. When you leave, I’ll return home to finish my workday.

Leslie already has your team busy with some minor tasks that will delay them from checking in with you.

” My lips curl up. “Natalie has already informed several people that you cut your lunch short because you weren’t feeling well.

A headache, wasn’t it? How nice of Cillian to offer you a ride since he was in the area. ”

His eyes dart from my face to the doors.

“Meanwhile,” I add, my tone lightening, almost conversational, “my team has infiltrated your home security systems. Your staff is already receiving messages, directly from your account, instructing them to leave early so you can rest. The house will be empty.

Just you, Cillian, and Cora. And what a pity that your home security systems have been malfunctioning on and off for the past week, so the footage will be sadly corrupted after capturing Cillian's SUV leaving the property.”

Reaching across the table, I begin to collect the paperwork Natalie left behind, tapping the edges against the table to line them up neatly. “You see, Dad , I’ve thought of everything. By the end of today, you’ll be dead, and the world will be better for it.”

With almost too much care, I place the papers down in front of me. “You’re lucky Mom isn’t here to see this.” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. “What you’ve done would have killed her all over again.”

For a moment, the only sound is his panting. Then there’s a quiet knock at the door. It opens, and Cillian and Cora step inside. The restaurant staff member slips out as quickly as they let the pair in, leaving the room sealed once more.

I rise slowly, buttoning the front of my suit jacket. Cora comes to the edge of the table, brushing past my father to collect the documents he was holding earlier.

For the first time, he looks small. Powerless.

Leaning in close, I drop my voice low enough that only he can hear. “You always told me to be ruthless. To never leave anything to chance. So really, this is your legacy. Congratulations.”

His lips part, but no sound escapes.

For the first and last time in my life, the great William Wells was left speechless.

Straightening, I turn on my heel and walk toward the door. I don’t look back. I don’t need to. The soft click of the door closing behind me is enough.