“Uncle Conrad.”

On the other end of the phone, Conrad was clearly still awake, sounding a bit surprised. “Myra? It's so late, what's up?”

“Start the emergency audit process for the ‘Sunshine Teaching’ project.”

Conrad paused for a long time on the other end. “Myra, I know you're upset, but... Samuel is the project’s spokesperson and its central figure. Auditing him now will spark public backlash.”

I laughed. “Then audit him too. Uncle Conrad, listen carefully. Immediately send him a formal legal notice on behalf of the foundation.”

“Inform him that, prior to the audit’s conclusion, in accordance with the supplementary agreement to Article 32 of Chapter 7 of our original contract,”

“Samuel is prohibited from leaving the mountainous area under any circumstances.”

“Otherwise, he will face liquidated damages equivalent to ten times the total project investment.”

Conrad sucked in a sharp breath.

Ten times the damages—that’s a nine-digit astronomical figure. Enough to ruin Samuel for life.

“Myra, you…”

“Uncle, this project was funded with my own money. His public image was built with my money. Now, I'm taking it back.”

Samuel's calls never came through to my phone again.

My assistant, Jane, told me he was nearly driving her phone crazy with calls.

From initial questioning, to mid-point threats, to final panic.

Jane said that when Samuel found out the foundation’s legal notice had been delivered to the village committee by a special messenger, he roared on the phone.

He was trapped in the mountains he once boasted about.

I laughed; this was just the beginning.

Lucy’s official account was updated.

The new title was: [When Kindness Meets Misunderstanding, All We Can Do Is Persevere].

In the article, she portrayed herself as an innocent, selfless person who was ruthlessly oppressed by a jealous woman from a wealthy family.

[Mr. Brown said, the darker it is, the more we must hold on to the light.]

[I don't know why Mrs. Brown hates me so much. Maybe it's because I shouldn't have been by Mr. Brown's side, taking away the care and attention that should have been hers.]

[But the children in the mountains are innocent. I am willing to bear all the misunderstandings, as long as they are not harmed.]

It’s written so well.

I was almost starting to feel sorry for her.

As expected, the comments section was filled with criticism directed at me.

[Just because you have a few stinking dollars, you think you can do whatever you want. Mr. Brown, run away!]

[This crazy woman can’t find her son, so she wants to destroy everyone else?]

[Poor little angel Lucy, give her a hug.]

Samuel’s colleague, the project manager I personally interviewed and hired, reposted the article on social media with the caption: [Five years of hard work destroyed in an instant, the hero’s downfall, the rise of the villain.]

The villagers who had benefited from my foundation also began to vent their grievances on various short video platforms.

They said I, the “heartless rich woman,” had cut off their livelihood and their children's hopes.

The public opinion fermented quickly.

My name and terms like “unscrupulous rich person” and “driving a hero to death” trended on social media.

Looking at the vile insults on the screen, I told Jane, “Compile a list of all project-related personnel who publicly supported Samuel in attacking me.”

Jane's pen flew across the tablet.

“Add them all to the ‘never collaborate’ blacklist for our foundation and all my personal businesses.”

“Additionally, notify finance to suspend all aid projects for the village, effective immediately.”

Opposition quickly arose within the foundation.

One of the directors, Hugo Wallace, an old friend of my father's, called me.

“Myra, you're being too impulsive. This is a blurring of the lines between public and private and it will damage the foundation's reputation!”

“Samuel is our ambassador. What you're doing is destroying our own fortress.”

I didn't argue with him.

I directly notified all the board members and called an emergency online meeting to be held in an hour.

At the start of the meeting, Hugo spoke first, bitterly accusing me of “acting on emotion.”

I waited for him to finish, then shared my screen.

On the screen were Samuel and Lucy's explicit chat records.

There was also the preliminary report on the accounting issues compiled by the audit team overnight.

The entire online meeting room fell silent.

I turned the camera toward myself and spoke calmly, “Now, I propose to remove Mr. Wallace's board membership, on the grounds that his judgment is severely impaired and he is unfit to participate in the decision-making of this foundation.”

The vote passed unanimously.

Hugo’s avatar went dark.

I looked around at the remaining faces on the screen.

“From now on, the ‘Sunshine Teaching’ project will be personally taken over by me and I will personally lead the audit and legal teams into the mountains tomorrow.”

I paused.

“My money, my project—I make the decisions. Anyone who stands in my way of finding my son is my enemy.”

Jane's tone was filled with concern. “Madam, Mr. Brown is looking for you everywhere. He called your parents, saying you've been traumatized and your mental state is very poor. He said he loves you and the children and can't live without you.”

I only replied with two words, “Let him be.”

After hanging up the phone, I looked out the window at the rapidly receding scenery.

The convoy stopped directly in front of the administrative building at the project base.

I didn't go to the dormitory where Samuel and I had once lived.

I moved into the independent suite reserved for me by the foundation.

As night fell, the mountains were so quiet you could hear the chirping of insects.

The knocking sound rang out.

I didn't move, just quietly watched the surveillance footage at the door.

Samuel was standing there.

He had lost weight in the few days since I had last seen him, his beard was unkempt and his eyes were red.

“Myra, will you open the door?”

His voice was hoarse, tinged with tears.

“I know you’re angry with me. It’s all my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have argued with you. I shouldn’t have defended Lucy. I just… I just didn’t want things to escalate.”

“Myra, after all these years together, you can’t just sentence me to death because of an article written by someone else.”

“Open the door, let me see you. I miss you so much.”

I almost laughed out loud.

I still didn’t move. On the surveillance screen, another figure emerged from behind Samuel.

It was Lucy.

She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater.

That was the sweater I left here last winter.

Lucy spoke softly, her voice not loud but just loud enough to be heard inside the door.

“Myra, don't be angry with Mr. Brown. It's my fault. I shouldn't have written those words on the public account.”

“But I really feel so sorry for Mr. Brown. He hasn't slept for days and nights trying to find your son. He’s the one who’s suffering the most.”

I pressed the call button and my voice echoed through the intercom.

“Samuel.”

His body tensed and he immediately rushed to the door.

“Myra, you’re finally talking to me.”

“I ask you, why is she wearing my clothes?”

Samuel froze.

He glanced back at Lucy, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes before turning to anger.

“Is this the time to talk about this? Myra, can you stop being so unreasonable!”

“It's just a piece of clothing. It's cold in the mountains and Lucy didn't bring enough clothes, so I let her wear it first.”

“How can you be so heartless?”

Lucy, standing behind him, immediately began to cry. She took a step forward and knelt down in front of my door with a thud.

“I’m sorry, Myra. It’s all my fault. I wore your clothes without your permission. Please don’t blame Mr. Brown. He only has you and the child in his heart. He really can’t take it anymore.”

“If you’re really angry, hit me or scold me! Please don’t torment Mr. Brown anymore.”

As she spoke, she kept banging her head against the wooden door.

The sound was loud.

When she looked up again, her fair forehead was already swollen and red, with even a few drops of blood seeping out.

What a desperate ploy.

Samuel’s anger was completely ignited.

He rushed over in a single stride, picking Lucy up from the ground with a look of concern.

Then he turned his head, glaring intently at my closed door.

“Myra!” He roared.

“How many people do you have to drive to death before you're satisfied!”

I heard him carrying another woman away, his footsteps hurried and angry.

The corridor fell silent once more.

I slowly picked up my phone, the screen displaying the recording interface and pressed the save button.

The next day, Samuel acted. He appeared on a live stream with the “injured” Lucy.

On camera, he looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot.

He addressed the camera, his voice choked with emotion, accusing me of “hating out of love.”

He said I had halted the project, forcing dozens of mountain children back to the brink of dropping out of school.

He portrayed himself as a tragic hero who had to endure his wife's unreasonable tantrums for the greater good.

By his side, Lucy had a conspicuous bandage on her forehead, lowering her head and silently shedding tears.

She said nothing, only tenderly handing him a glass of water when he was overcome with grief.

What a pitiful little flower being cyberbullied.

The comment section was completely overwhelmed.

[Capitalists have no humanity! They’re risking the children’s futures over a marital dispute!]

[I feel sorry for Mr. Brown, the hero bleeding and crying.]

[Is that rich woman mentally ill? Her control is too strong.]

[Poor Samuel Brown, he did nothing yet was cyberbullied.]

Public opinion completely sided with Samuel.

In the evening, chaotic sounds began to echo outside my residence.

Dozens of villagers, holding torches and farm tools, gathered in a dark crowd.