THE DAY I DIE TOO
Roses are red violets are blue, outside I'm smiling inside I'm full with vengeance.since the day I set my foot out of the courtroom,I swore I would wipe out each smile on the faces of my enemies.They thought I've forgotten,but scar's don't let you forget, does it?
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I was only seventeen when my dad a respected CFO of his own company was framed for embezzling millions from the company .I still remember the memories of my dad.
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I remembered the day he died, how thin and cold the morning was , even the atmosphere sensed something was wrong,I still remember the overwhelming smell of his cologne mixed with paper and ink and stamps from the door that was halfway closed,I still remember how I entered his study that morning, expecting to see him sitting his chair ,hands rolled up in a pen, glasses just above his nose., glancing through some books and nodding his head going with the flow of the book .with his ledger opened.or rathe tidying up the study room,I have never seen any man so immaculate and tidy ,and he never lets any one tidy up for him.
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He was there,but not like that.!!!
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At first my brain refused to take it in.how his shoulders were cold,his pen had already rolled down to the carpet,his head was bent down as though he was praying,but trust me there was nothing holy In that scene.The small piece of note that contained his handwriting drew me in.as I picked it up and read each word tearing me apart "I'm sorry,the accusations were too much".
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my face froze first -no gasp ,no scream,as if my mind refused to catch up with my eyes,them came the silent tremor a subtle shake in my lips not from cold but from the violent shattering of everything I believed safe.My eyes widened glistening but unblinking locked on the sight as though if I looked away it would become real.The corners of my mouth twitched,once ,twice, thrice caught between speaking and choking in the weight in my throat,and in that moment I didn't scream,I couldn't, my mouth opened but there was nothing,the scream hung there in my chest and it brought me down on my knees.My eyes burned, blurred,tears poured down and through that tears ,I saw it all... They had accused him , stripped him off every bit of integrity he had in him ,they had stripped him bare and forced him to choose between shame and death .and obviously ,he choose the latter .but even with the burned and blurred vision I saw something different, something sharp, something no one else saw ,and it made me realize............
The next day the News was everywhere how Maxwell Hale had committed suicide.
when I saw the headlines ,I felt broken,every fiber in my being broke ,and every thought of forgiveness I harbored before to honour my dad went down the drain,this was it ,the last straw that broke the camel's back.
Framing him wasn't enough,they still had to bring down his name to nothing!!
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Breaking News Headlines
#Corporate CFO in Shocking Suicide Amid Fraud Allegations
#Millions Missing From Vance Global Accounts: CFO Found Dead in Apparent Admission of Guilt
#Financial Scandal Claims Another Victim
#Company Mourns Loss, But Questions Remain Over Missing Funds
According to them:
“Tragedy struck this morning as Maxwell Hale, the Chief Financial Officer of Vance Global Holdings, was found dead in his home in what authorities are calling an apparent suicide. This comes just days before Hale was due to stand trial for allegedly embezzling over twelve million dollars from the company.
Police sources say a handwritten note was discovered at the scene, suggesting remorse, though investigators have yet to release its contents.". This broke the camel's back. in that moment grief and rage braided together, something sharper_ something dangerous - had already taken root.
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📜 THE NEW YORK FINANCIAL GAZETTE
Date: October 14, 20XX
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Headline:
Vance Industries CFO Maxwell Hale Under Investigation for $12 Million Fraud
Byline:
By Catherine Dwyer, Senior Business Correspondent
Vance Industries, the global manufacturing and technology giant, is facing its most significant crisis in years after federal authorities announced an investigation into Chief Financial Officer Maxwell Hale. The probe centers on an alleged $12 million transfer routed through an offshore intermediary earlier this year.
While officials suggest the transaction had “no clear corporate purpose,” internal sources say the transfer coincided with a series of undisclosed negotiations in Eastern Europe involving “a small but promising industrial asset.” The identity of the asset remains unclear.
Speaking from the company’s Midtown headquarters, CEO Elliot Vance addressed shareholders in a measured tone:
> “Maxwell Hale has been an integral part of our growth for over a decade,” Vance said. “If these allegations are true, it would be a personal betrayal. However, the company will continue to cooperate fully with authorities and ensure stability for our investors.”
Vance declined to clarify whether the $12 million transfer was ever authorized at an executive level, citing the ongoing investigation. When pressed about the rumored Eastern European negotiations, he described them as “immaterial to the company’s long-term plans.”
Hale, widely credited with orchestrating Vance Industries’ aggressive expansion in the past five years, has not spoken publicly. His attorney has issued no formal statement.
Vance Industries’ stock slid 14% in early trading following the news, though some analysts suggest the drop could be “temporary” if ongoing “strategic initiatives” deliver expected returns.
This is a developing story.
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I still remember the day they took his corpse .They wheeled him out under a sheet, but I didn’t need to see his face again. I already knew it by heart—the lines of worry etched too deep, the quiet shame in his eyes, the exhaustion that came from fighting a battle he never had a chance to win.The face surrender plastered.He had surrenderd ,the shame was to big to carry alone....
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The house was silent after they left, but it wasn’t peace. It was the kind of silence that presses against your skin, that screams without sound. I sat in his study, the air still thick with him—ink, paper, and the faintest trace of his cologne. His glasses lay beside the ledger he always kept close, pages filled with neat numbers and small, careful handwriting.stacks of pen on the table,the room as neat as always.
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I ran my fingers over that ledger, as if I could feel his hands in the paper, as if the truth was waiting there between the lines. And that’s when I knew—I couldn’t let this be the last page of his story. They had stolen his name, smeared it across headlines, and buried him under lies.That shouldn't be the story of him.
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I swore on that ledger—on every number he wrote, every word they twisted—that I would make them pay. Not with lawsuits. Not with headlines. With something they couldn’t hide from or spin into profit. I would dismantle them piece by piece, the way they dismantled him. And when I was done, they’d understand exactly what it feels like to lose everything.
That was the day my grief ended, and my war began.
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I didn’t sleep that night. I sat in the dim light of the desk lamp, turning pages of his ledger until the numbers blurred, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what I was seeing. Every column was meticulous, balanced—until the month the accusations began. That’s when the figures started to warp, like someone had bled ink into his work.
But the thing about my father was—he never made mistakes. If something didn’t add up, it wasn’t by accident.
By dawn, I had pulled the ledger apart, laying pages across the floor in patterns only he and I would understand. And there it was—tiny annotations in pencil, barely visible unless you knew to look. A trail. Not long, but enough to follow. Enough to find the hands that really took the money.
I scanned every page, encrypted the files, and tucked the originals back exactly where I found them. By the time the sun rose, I had a plan. Not the whole thing, not yet—but the first move was clear.
I called a name I hadn’t spoken in years, one I’d sworn I’d never say again: Marcus Leighton, my father’s former protégé and Elliot Vance’s current right hand. The kind of man who knew every skeleton in the company’s closets—because he’d helped bury them.
“Marcus,” I said when he answered, my voice steady, cold. “We need to talk. About my father. And about the mess you helped make.”
The silence on the other end told me just everything I needed to know. The war had just begun.
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The next morning, I didn’t cry. I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t even eat.
I went to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and took out the spare key to his safe. Inside were three things: his wedding ring, a stack of old contracts, and a black USB drive with no label. I slipped it into my pocket like it was nothing—like it wasn’t the only piece of him I could still protect.
By noon, I was at the county records office, pulling every public document tied to Vance Global Holdings. Property deeds. Business registrations. Board member histories. It was all noise to anyone else, but I knew how to read it. My father had taught me. Patterns. Inconsistencies. The tiny cracks where the truth could bleed through.Now I'm grateful for those boring nights he would make me sit and watch him do the accounts.
That night, I booked a ticket under a different name, cash only. I didn’t know exactly where the road would lead yet, but I knew the first stop—Elliot Vance’s world. I’d get close, close enough to see the fear in his eyes when he realized the past hadn’t buried me with my father.
I wasn’t chasing justice anymore. I was building a reckoning.
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But before then.........let me tell you how everything went..before my every thing turned haywirel
