Chapter 157

Alexander Pierce stood in the hospital corridor outside Victoria’s room, cellphone pressed to his ear as he absorbed the news.

“You’re certain it’s her?” he asked the FBI agent on the other end of the line.

“One hundred percent,” came the reply. “Clear facial match in multiple video segments. We’re preparing to release the footage to the media within the hour.”

“I want to see it first,” Alexander insisted. “Send it to my secure email immediately.”

After ending the call, Alexander leaned against the wall, the weight of the news settling on his shoulders. They had suspected Rose from the beginning, of course. Known in their hearts who was responsible. But confirmation brought its own burden—the question of how to tell Camille.

She had barely left Victoria’s bedside in the five days since the bombing. The unexpectedly hopeful news about Victoria’s treatment options had lifted some of the darkness from Camille’s spirits, but she remained fragile, caught between relief that Victoria might have years rather than months and fury at Rose for accelerating her illness with the bombing.

Now Alexander held proof of Rose’s guilt in his hands. Not conjecture or suspicion, but undeniable visual evidence.

He checked his phone as the email arrived, opening the video files and watching them in grim silence. There was Rose, her movements calm and deliberate as she placed the bombs that would kill six people. No hesitation. No sign of conflict. Just cold, calculated destruction.

Alexander closed the files, his decision made. Camille needed to know before she saw it on the news. She deserved that much.

He knocked softly on Victoria’s door before entering. Camille sat beside the bed as always, but Victoria was awake today, her color somewhat improved from yesterday. They both looked up as he entered.

“What is it?” Camille asked immediately, reading his expression. “Something’s wrong.”

Alexander moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “The FBI has identified the bomber from security footage,” he said quietly. “It’s Rose. They have clear images of her placing the devices throughout the hotel.”

Camille’s face remained perfectly still, but Alexander felt the slight tremble that ran through her body at his words.

“Show me,” she said.

“Camille…” Victoria began, concern in her voice.

“I need to see it,” Camille insisted. “Show me the footage.”

Alexander hesitated, then handed her his phone with the video cued up. Camille took it, her hand steady despite the storm he knew must be raging inside her. Victoria motioned for Alexander to help her sit up higher so she could see the screen as well.

Together they watched as Rose moved through the hotel, planting the bombs that would devastate their lives. Camille’s expression hardened with each passing second, while Victoria’s remained carefully neutral—the perfect mask she had perfected over decades in business.

When the video ended, Camille handed the phone back to Alexander, her movements controlled. Too controlled.

“They’re issuing a nationwide manhunt,” Alexander continued. “Her face will be on every news channel within the hour. The FBI wanted us to know first.”

Victoria reached for Camille’s hand. “Now everyone will know the truth.”

But Camille didn’t seem to hear her. “Six people dead,” she said, her voice distant. “Six people who came to support my foundation. Who believed in what we were trying to build.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Alexander said firmly.

“I know whose fault it is,” Camille replied, an edge of steel entering her voice. “I’ve always known.”

Victoria tightened her grip on Camille’s hand. “Remember your promise to me.”

The simple words seemed to penetrate Camille’s hardening shell. She looked at Victoria, conflict evident in her eyes, the promise to choose creation over destruction battling with the raw anger the footage had rekindled.

“I remember,” she said finally, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t want justice.”

“Justice, yes,” Victoria agreed. “Revenge, no.”

Alexander’s phone rang again, the FBI with updated information. He stepped out into the hallway to take the call, leaving Camille and Victoria to their private struggle.

When he returned minutes later, his expression had changed.

“What now?” Camille asked.

“They’ve released her photo to the media,” Alexander reported. “And they’ve found something else—a rental car registered to one of Rose’s aliases. It was abandoned near the bus station the night of the bombing.”

“She’s running,” Victoria said.

“Yes. But she left something behind.” Alexander hesitated. “A notebook. It contained detailed plans of Kane Industries headquarters: floor plans, security protocols, staff schedules.”

Camille went perfectly still. “She was planning to target the company next.”

“It appears that way,” Alexander confirmed. “The FBI believes the hotel bombing was just the first phase of a larger plan.”

Victoria’s monitoring machines beeped as her heart rate increased slightly. “Is there any indication of where she might have gone?”

Alexander shook his head. “Not yet. But the FBI is following every lead. They’ve assigned their top agents to the case.”

Camille stood abruptly. “I need some air.”

“Camille…” Victoria began.

“I’m not going far,” Camille assured her. “Just to the garden downstairs. I need to… process this.”

Alexander moved to follow her, but Victoria caught his sleeve.

“Let her go,” she said quietly. “She needs space to find her own way through this.”

After Camille left, Victoria’s composed expression finally cracked, revealing the worry beneath.

“She’s struggling with her promise to me,” Victoria said. “The promise to choose life over revenge.”

“It’s a lot to ask,” Alexander replied, taking the seat Camille had vacated. “Especially now, with proof of what Rose did. With the knowledge that Rose was planning even more attacks.”

“It’s precisely because of that proof that the promise matters,” Victoria countered. “Rose wants Camille consumed by hatred. Wants her focused on destruction rather than creation. If Camille gives in to that, Rose wins, even if she’s caught and punished.”

Alexander couldn’t argue with Victoria’s logic, but he understood Camille’s conflict all too well. “What can I do to help her?”

Victoria’s eyes, still sharp despite her illness, fixed on his. “Remind her who she is now. Not who she was when Rose first hurt her. The woman she’s become is stronger than her anger. She just needs to remember that.”

In the hospital garden, Camille sat on a stone bench, face turned up to the afternoon sun. The images from the security footage played on loop in her mind, Rose moving through the hotel, planting death with the same casual confidence she’d once used to steal Camille’s husband, her family, her sense of self.

Always Rose, destroying what Camille built. Always Rose, turning triumph to ash.

Camille’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A news alert. She opened it to see Rose’s face filling the screen, a still from the security footage, alongside the headline: “FBI LAUNCHES NATIONWIDE MANHUNT FOR GRAND PLAZA HOTEL BOMBER.”

Beneath it, details of the attack. The death toll. The injured. A brief biography of Rose Lewis, adopted sister of Camille Kane, with mentions of her “apparent vendetta” against the Kane family.

Now everyone would know. The story Camille had kept private for so long—her sister’s betrayal, her husband’s infidelity, her own transformation from victim to survivor—was now playing out in public headlines.

She closed the news app and opened her photo gallery instead, scrolling to an image she had taken just weeks ago: the Phoenix Foundation’s logo, freshly painted on the wall of their new office. A symbol of rebirth. Of rising from destruction.

Victoria’s words echoed in her mind: “Promise me you’ll live for creation, not destruction.”

Camille had made that promise in a moment of emotional vulnerability, desperate to give Victoria peace. Now, faced with undeniable evidence of Rose’s crimes, that promise felt harder to keep. The anger burning inside her demanded action, satisfaction, justice.

But perhaps that was exactly why the promise mattered.

She looked up as a shadow fell across her. Alexander stood there, concern evident in his eyes.

“They’ve found another piece of evidence,” he said without preamble. “A list in Rose’s handwriting. Names and addresses. Your parents. My apartment. Victoria’s home. Your office. All places she planned to target next.”

Camille absorbed this information, feeling oddly calm despite its implications. “She wanted to destroy everything connected to me.”

“Yes.” Alexander sat beside her on the bench. “The FBI believes the hotel bombing was just the beginning.”

Camille nodded, still strangely detached. “That makes sense. Rose never does anything halfway.”

“Camille,” Alexander said gently, “what are you thinking right now?”

She considered the question, searching for honesty beneath the numbness that had settled over her. “I’m thinking that I’m tired. Tired of Rose dictating the course of my life. Tired of reacting to her hatred instead of creating something of my own.”

Alexander studied her face. “What does that mean for what comes next?”

“It means I’m going to keep my promise to Victoria,” Camille said, the words feeling right as she spoke them. “I’m going to rebuild the foundation. Create something even stronger than before. And I’m going to let the FBI handle Rose.”

“Just like that?” Alexander asked, surprised by her certainty.

“No, not just like that,” Camille admitted. “I’m still angry. I still want her caught and punished for what she did. But I won’t let that desire consume me. Won’t let it become what drives me.” She looked up at the hospital building, knowing Victoria was inside, fighting her own battle. “I’ve seen where that path leads. I won’t follow Rose down it.”

Alexander took her hand, his eyes reflecting both pride and concern. “The FBI will find her, Camille. With the evidence they have now, it’s only a matter of time.”

“I know,” Camille said. “And when they do, I’ll face her in court. I’ll tell my story. And then I’ll go back to building something Rose can never destroy—a life defined by creation, not destruction.”

As they sat together in the hospital garden, Camille’s phone buzzed again with another news alert. This one showed a different image—a blurry security camera photo of a woman at a bus station who resembled Rose, but with dyed hair and different clothes.

The manhunt had begun in earnest. Across America, Rose’s face would soon be known to everyone. Her crimes exposed. Her hiding places, won.