Chapter 5
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They had once dragged Anya Petrova in there, that orphan girl from Eastern Europe with disturbingly clear eyes. In the scenes of memory, Scarlett grabbed Anya's hair, pressing her face against the cold cement floor.
"Admit it, Anya, you stole the exam papers," Scarlett's voice carried the distinctive clarity and cruelty of a young girl. "Admit you're a fraud, you don't deserve to be at Vanguard Academy."
Celeste held her phone, camera pointed at Anya's pale yet defiant face, the cold light of the screen reflecting the fear and resilience in her eyes. The boys around them jeered, occasionally nudging Anya's curled-up body with their feet. They forced her to sign a fabricated "confession," then made her admit on camera, in a trembling voice, that she had cheated to remain at the elite school. That video became their collective badge of victory, proof that they had tamed the wild beast.
Shortly after this incident, Anya died. The memories were carefully sealed away by them, both as evidence of their crime and as an unspoken bond between them.
Until today, when the PE teacher calling himself Logan Grant summoned them all to this place filled with guilty echoes through a group text message. He still wore that ridiculous Polo shirt, but the smile had vanished from his face, replaced by a chilling calmness.
"Welcome back, children," Logan leaned against the doorway, blocking the only exit. "I think you should be quite familiar with this place."
Scarlett frowned, speaking impatiently: "Coach Grant, what stupid game is this again? We're busy."
Logan didn't answer, he just raised his phone and pressed play. The next second, Scarlett's own sharp voice echoed through the storage room: "Admit it, Anya, you stole the exam papers..." On the phone screen was the video they had recorded months ago, with Anya's desperate face looking particularly clear in the dim light.
The color drained from the children's faces instantly. Celeste let out a short gasp, instinctively stepping back and bumping into the cold metal shelf. All their arrogance and disdain crumbled in that moment, leaving nothing but naked fear.
"This video... where did you get it from?" a boy's voice trembled.
"Anya is a clever girl, she knows how to back up important things," Logan's voice was cold. "Now, everyone come over here, take a piece of paper and a pen. Write down everything you did to Anya, don't leave out a single detail. Otherwise, this video will appear in the inboxes of all the directors at Vanguard Academy tomorrow morning, as well as on the front page of The New York Times."
The threat was so naked and direct, leaving no room for negotiation. These rich kids who had been throwing their weight around under their parents' protection were tasting fear for the first time. They looked at Logan's no-longer-friendly eyes and knew he wasn't joking. Their proud family backgrounds, in the face of solid evidence, were as fragile as glass.
While the children were being driven into a desperate situation by past crimes, Serafina was in the study, engaged in a quieter but more deadly hunt. The old mobile phone Anya left behind was the best weapon she had prepared for Serafina. With the help of technical professionals, Serafina successfully cracked the password to her cloud account.
What popped up on the screen was a folder named "Pandora". Opening it, a massive secret network gradually unfolded before Serafina's eyes. Anya, Serafina's meticulous daughter, was not a passive victim. With a calmness and insight beyond her years, she had collected deadly leverage on almost every member of the Tower Elite Club.
Here lies the secret of Marcus Shaw's lawyer friend Kevin—his Ivy League law doctorate that he takes such pride in is actually forged; there are email records from another member's husband, detailing explicit conversations and dating arrangements with his male lover; there's even a complete set of accounting books for an underground casino with enormous transaction amounts, operated secretly by a woman who presents herself publicly as a philanthropist.
This information is enough to destroy the perfect lives they've carefully constructed. Serafina doesn't need sympathy, nor understanding—she only needs to pull the trigger.
Serafina created a separate anonymous email account for each target, then began sending emails one by one. To Kevin, the lawyer who had falsified his academic credentials, she attached screenshots of his payment records for purchasing fake diplomas; to the lady with a gay husband, she sent intimate photos of her husband with his lover; to the wealthy woman who ran an underground casino, she simply sent a surveillance photo of the interior of her casino, with her own face clearly visible in the corner.
The email content was extremely concise, containing just one sentence: "I know who you are, and I know what you've done."
No extortion, no demands, just one cold statement. This kind of unknown threat was far more effective at breaking down psychological defenses than direct blackmail.
After sending the last email, Serafina closed her computer and picked up the cooled red tea beside her. Outside the window, Manhattan's night view remained splendidly dazzling. Those people enjoying the top-floor views had probably already received Serafina's "greetings" by now.
In the WhatsApp group "Tower Elite Club," the endless boasting and flattery came to an abrupt halt tonight. In its place was a deathly silence. A few minutes later, the first member to receive an anonymous letter, the lady whose husband was having an affair, finally couldn't help but send a message: "Is there a traitor among us?"
This sentence instantly stirred up a thousand waves.
"You received one too?" Lawyer Kevin immediately replied, his panic palpable even through the screen.
"What things? What are you talking about?" The casino-owning socialite asked with feigned calmness, but her rapidly beating heart had already betrayed her.
Panic spread quickly. Each of them held secrets that could destroy themselves, and they knew that others held leverage over them as well. This alliance built on interests and vanity became instantly fragile in the face of absolute fear. They began to frantically suspect each other, scrutinizing every name in the group chat, speculating who had stabbed them in the back.
Was it the banker who had recently failed in his investments? Or the hedge fund manager who had always been jealous of her husband's position? Once the seeds of doubt were sown, they grew wildly. The looks they gave each other no longer contained the familiarity and intimacy of the past, only vigilance and hostility.
The once impenetrable Tower Elite Club, representing New York's top echelon of power, had developed irreparable cracks in just one hour. They began calling each other with accusations, arguing, and shifting blame.
"Kevin, did you do it? You've always wanted to replace Mike's position at the law firm!"
"Don't talk nonsense! I think it's Judy, her casino is about to be shut down, and she wants to drag everyone down with her!"
Sharp accusations and hysterical denials came through the phone, all civility between former allies completely gone. Serafina leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and quietly listened to the chaotic sounds transmitted by the bug she had planted in one of their homes.
The symphony of revenge had just played its first movement.
