She whispered my name. And suddenly, the entire office seemed to run out of breathable air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The receptionist hung up slowly, as if she had just received an order she was terrified to repeat. She looked me up and down: the clearance-rack blouse, the bleeding knee, the scuffed sneakers, the puffy eyes from sheer exhaustion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Stanton will see you now,\u201d she said. \u201cRight this way, miss.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Miss.<\/em> Over at the Rothchild Enterprises tower, they had tossed me out like trash. Here, with my leg busted open and my heart in shreds, someone was actually calling me miss<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I followed her down a corridor lined with obscenely expensive artwork. Everything smelled of polished mahogany, freshly ground espresso, and chilled air. At the far end stood a heavy black door with gold lettering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n William Stanton. Senior Partner.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Before my knuckles even grazed the wood, the door swung open. A man in his sixties stood before me. Dark, tailored suit. Silver hair. Exhausted eyes. He didn\u2019t seem shocked to see me. He looked like he had been waiting for this exact moment for decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHarper,\u201d he breathed, and my name on his tongue sounded like a sacred vow. \u201cYour mother was right. You were going to come when you were finally ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t hold the dam back. \u201cMy mom is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lawyer shut his eyes for a second. It wasn\u2019t a polite gesture. It physically pained him. \u201cI know. David informed me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hearing my adoptive father\u2019s name come out of his mouth made my fists clench. \u201cDid you know everything, too?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI knew enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, I didn\u2019t. So start talking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He ushered me inside. He didn\u2019t offer me a glass of water. He didn\u2019t tell me to breathe or calm down. He didn\u2019t try to coddle me like a reprimanded child. He simply pointed to a leather armchair and pulled a heavy metal lockbox from his desk drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Taped to the lid was a label in my mom\u2019s handwriting: \u201cFor when Harper asks.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n My legs nearly gave out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe dropped this off four years ago,\u201d William stated. \u201cShe specifically asked me not to track you down. She knew you would come on your own when the truth could no longer be buried.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat truth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William unlocked the box. Inside were thick folders. A flash drive. Birth certificates. Legal contracts. Photographs. Bank ledgers. And a single letter, folded into thirds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I recognized my mother\u2019s script before my fingers even grazed the paper. Harp.<\/em> That was it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands were trembling violently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRead it later,\u201d William advised. \u201cFirst, you need to understand the context.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I\u2019m reading it right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I snatched the letter and unfolded it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sweetheart:<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n If you are reading this, please forgive me for not telling you sooner who your biological father was. It was never out of shame. I was never, ever ashamed of having you. I was terrified they would rip you away from me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Julian Rothchild didn\u2019t abandon me because he didn\u2019t love you. He abandoned me because he was a coward.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n But Eleanor Blackwood didn\u2019t destroy my life just out of petty jealousy. She destroyed me because she knew a secret Julian wouldn\u2019t discover until many years later: you weren\u2019t a mistake. You were the only legitimate heir who could strip everything away from her son.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n I froze. I slowly raised my head. \u201cWhat does \u2018legitimate\u2019 mean here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William took a deep, steadying breath. \u201cIt means Julian Rothchild and Eleanor Blackwood signed an ironclad prenuptial agreement keeping their assets completely separate, but they were never physically able to conceive biological children. Carter is not Julian\u2019s blood son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt the mahogany room spin. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCarter was registered as his heir, but he isn\u2019t. Julian found out when the boy turned ten. Eleanor had heavily doctored medical records, dates, and hospital documents. By the time he discovered the truth, a public scandal of that magnitude would have annihilated the corporation, the family, and the pristine public image they defended so fiercely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I gripped the armrests of the leather chair. \u201cAnd me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William opened a separate folder and slid a certified document across the mahogany desk. It was a DNA test.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Julian Rothchild: Probability of paternity 99.9998%.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n My full name. Harper Davis. My exact date of birth. My entire existence reduced to a statistical number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother had it done when you were just two years old,\u201d he explained. \u201cJulian funded it in absolute secrecy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo he did<\/em> know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd he still left us rotting under a leaky roof.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William didn\u2019t answer right away. That deafening silence infuriated me far more than any pathetic excuse could have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThree hundred thousand dollars a month doesn\u2019t buy a kid a childhood!\u201d I screamed. \u201cMy mom died rationing her generic prescriptions! I worked double shifts washing dishes while that coward was on the cover of magazines hugging someone else\u2019s fake son!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William lowered his gaze. \u201cYour mother refused to touch that money because she wouldn\u2019t let Julian buy her forgiveness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen where are the missing fifty million dollars?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The attorney stood up, walked over to a digital safe concealed in the wall, and punched in a passcode. He retrieved a thick red binder and placed it directly in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIn here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I cracked it open. I didn\u2019t comprehend it at first. They were complex investment contracts. Debt assignments. Equity acquisitions. Blind trusts. The exact names of the shell companies I had seen in my mom\u2019s newspaper clippings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, I spotted my name. Not the full name. Just the initials. H.D. Ultimate Beneficiary.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother didn\u2019t just save the money,\u201d William said quietly. \u201cShe forged it into a key.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA key to what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William stared straight into my soul. \u201cTo walk into Rothchild Enterprises through the exact door they slammed in her pregnant face.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was speechless. He kept going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFor eighteen solid years, your mother used portions of Julian\u2019s deposits to quietly buy up the debt of the conglomerate\u2019s subsidiaries whenever they hit a financial crisis. She orchestrated it through anonymous third parties. Small, calculated portions. Never drawing attention. Not a single soul imagined that a fired seamstress from Queens was stockpiling commercial paper that could one day bring a multi-billion dollar real estate empire to its knees.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I thought about her heavily patched winter jackets. Her worn-out boots. The way she religiously unscrewed lightbulbs to save a few cents on electricity. And it made me want to sob\u2014not out of grief, but out of blinding rage. My mother had lived like a destitute pauper just to purchase the inevitable downfall of the elite monsters who broke her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t she tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause she was terrified you would go hunting for them before the trap was fully set. Because she knew they would humiliate and crush you. And because she needed one final piece.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat piece?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William held up the flash drive. \u201cJulian\u2019s confession.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He placed it in my palm. It was small, matte black, entirely insignificant looking. It weighed less than a quarter. But it felt like I was holding live C4.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cConfession?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSix months ago, Julian walked into this exact office. He\u2019s dying, Harper. Terminally ill. I don\u2019t know how many weeks he has left. He wanted to legally and publicly acknowledge you. He came to amend his last will and testament.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stopped breathing. \u201cAnd did he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William clenched his jaw tightly. \u201cHe didn\u2019t get the chance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause Eleanor found out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The name of that woman dropped between us like lethal poison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat did she do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cExactly what she always does. She locked the problem in a cage. For the past five months, nobody who hasn\u2019t been vetted by her can even get in the same room as Julian. They replaced his specialists, his private drivers, his nursing staff, his cell phones. They even blacklisted my firm\u2019s numbers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo they have him legally kidnapped?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAs an attorney, I cannot legally make that claim without hard proof.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut your face is saying it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William didn\u2019t crack a smile. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shot up from the chair. My torn knee throbbed with fire, but I didn\u2019t even wince. \u201cThen let\u2019s get him out of there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s not nearly that simple.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAbsolutely nothing in my life has been simple.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Through the glass, you could see the peak of the Rothchild Enterprises tower\u2014shiny, arrogant, looking as if the rest of the city needed its permission just to exist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou never should have gone to that lobby today,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t know any better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, they know now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I spun around. \u201cWhat is that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen you handed over your ID at that reception desk, you tripped a wire. Eleanor has been waiting years for you to finally show your face.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A block of ice slid down my spine. \u201cWaiting?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William opened a manila folder and extracted an 8\u00d710 photograph. It was me. But not a printed Instagram selfie. It was a surveillance shot of me leaving my shift in my coffee shop apron. Me swiping my MetroCard. Me walking into the free clinic with my mom. Me carrying cheap groceries in the rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bile rose in my throat. \u201cThey were stalking me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFor the past two years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDid my mom know about this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The fury bubbled up so violently it nearly choked me. \u201cEveryone knew except me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother was desperately trying to protect you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy mother let me waltz directly into the lion\u2019s den armed with nothing but a damn business card!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d William said, elevating his voice for the very first time. \u201cYour mother let you come after<\/em> she passed away because, if she were still alive, she never would have been able to survive seeing you look at her with hatred.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That shattered me. I collapsed back into the leather chair. I didn\u2019t cry beautifully. I wept the ugly, hyperventilating way you cry when you finally comprehend that deep love can also inflict catastrophic pain, even when it\u2019s paved with the best intentions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n William handed me a box of tissues. \u201cHarper, your mother was never ignorant. She was never weak. She wasn\u2019t sitting around waiting for karma or justice. She was methodically building it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what part do I play in all this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou are the executioner. The heir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I let out a wet, hideous laugh. \u201cI\u2019m not the heir to a damn thing. I can\u2019t even walk in stilettos without breaking an ankle. I don\u2019t know how to speak their language. Two hours ago, a rent-a-cop tossed me onto the concrete and Carter Rothchild threw crumpled bills at my face like I was a stray dog.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William looked at me with a terrifying calmness. \u201cWhich is exactly why you are going to learn how to destroy them. Quickly.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Right at that second, the sleek office phone buzzed. The receptionist\u2019s voice crackled through the intercom, trembling violently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMr. Stanton\u2026 Mrs. Eleanor Blackwood is in the lobby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My entire skeleton locked up. William didn\u2019t flinch. \u201cIs she alone?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, sir. She has Mr. Carter Rothchild with her\u2026 and a private security detail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at the open metal lockbox. The flash drive. The debt deeds. My initials stamped across documents that could incinerate a dynasty. William gathered everything swiftly, moving with practiced efficiency, but completely devoid of panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cListen to my exact words,\u201d he instructed, locking the safe. \u201cWhatever happens in the next five minutes, do not sign a single page, do not accept any offers, and do not deny any claims. Just observe them. Sometimes, watching your enemy without blinking is the first step to slaughtering them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The heavy door pushed open without anyone bothering to knock. Eleanor Blackwood strolled into the office as if her name was on the building\u2019s lease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was physically smaller than I had pictured, but her presence sucked all the oxygen from the room. A tailored white Chanel suit, authentic South Sea pearls, blood-red lipstick, and eyes made of frosted glass. Right behind her shadowed Carter, looking impeccably groomed and wearing the exact same sneer of disgust he had when I was bleeding on the sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When his eyes locked onto mine, he let out an amused chuckle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, look at this,\u201d he mocked. \u201cThe little stray from the lobby actually found a shyster to humor her little fairy tale.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t bite. Eleanor didn\u2019t even glance at her fake son. She locked her frozen eyes entirely on me. And in that fraction of a second, I understood why my mom had operated in the shadows for nearly two decades. This woman didn\u2019t look angry. She looked violently accustomed to getting her way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHarper Davis,\u201d she purred, tasting my name as if it were spoiled milk. \u201cYour mother always possessed spectacularly terrible timing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood up to meet her eye level. \u201cDo not speak about my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter scoffed. \u201cOr what, trash?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shifted my gaze to him. \u201cOr you\u2019re going to be on your hands and knees picking up those bills you threw at me.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n His arrogant smirk instantly dissolved. William stepped smoothly between us. \u201cMrs. Blackwood, this is my private practice. I highly suggest you manage your tone while under my roof.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor casually tossed a thick leather folder onto his desk. \u201cI am here to mitigate a disaster. Inside this portfolio is an ironclad non-disclosure agreement accompanied by a shockingly generous financial settlement. The little girl signs on the dotted line, completely disappears from the tri-state area, and we all return to our normal lives.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not a little girl,\u201d I shot back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor glanced down at my bloody, scabbed knee. \u201cNo. You\u2019re something far worse. You\u2019re an impoverished adult holding leverage she lacks the intellect to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The insult stung, but I refused to retreat an inch. \u201cThen why don\u2019t you explain it to me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the very first time, a microscopic flicker of surprise crossed her Botox-smoothed features. She hadn\u2019t anticipated pushback. Neither had I, honestly. But my mother\u2019s dying command was branded into my brain: don\u2019t beg, don\u2019t get on your knees.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor\u2019s smile returned, slow and venomous. \u201cYour mother was a brief, cheap fling. An ancient embarrassment. A careless mistake that Julian compensated her more than adequately for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThree hundred thousand dollars a month to buy her silence?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo ensure you both stayed in the gutter where you belonged.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William raised a warning hand. \u201cTread very carefully, Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She ignored the lawyer entirely. \u201cYour mother could have lived a very comfortable life. She could have purchased a suburban house, a reliable car, decent clothing. But she aggressively chose to play the suffering martyr. That is hardly my fault.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I closed the distance, stepping right into her personal space. \u201cNo. Your fault was having her dragged by her hair across a factory floor while she was carrying a child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter snapped his head toward his mother. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor\u2019s expression remained stone-cold, but a tiny muscle in her jaw twitched. How hilarious. The spoiled prince had been kept in the dark about the whole bloody history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother hid the skeletons from you, too,\u201d I taunted Carter. \u201cLooks like deception is a cherished family tradition.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShut your mouth,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDid she ever mention that Julian was trying to legally acknowledge me as his true heir?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter froze, the color draining from his tan face. Eleanor moved faster. \u201cShe is lying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William calmly opened a drawer, extracted a photocopied sheet, and laid it face-up on the desk. \u201cA drafted petition of paternal acknowledgment. Dated six months ago. Bearing Julian\u2019s preliminary signature.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carter snatched the paper. He scanned it frantically. His expression morphed from elite arrogance to pure, unadulterated panic. \u201cMom\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat document holds zero legal validity,\u201d Eleanor hissed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot yet,\u201d William countered smoothly. \u201cBut it is more than enough to start asking very public questions. And you\u2019d be amazed how curious federal judges get when a terminally ill billionaire suddenly has his entire medical team replaced the exact same week he attempts to acknowledge a hidden daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor finally looked at me, really seeing me. Not as a charity case. Not as Julian\u2019s mistake. As a lethal threat to her empire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have absolutely no idea who you are declaring war against.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cActually, I do,\u201d I replied evenly. \u201cI\u2019m dealing with the woman who was paralyzed by the fear of a fired seamstress for eighteen long years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The slap was lightning fast. I didn\u2019t even see her hand move. My cheek, my ear, my pride\u2014everything burned with stinging heat. Carter stumbled a step back in shock. William shouted her name. The security guards shuffled nervously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But I didn\u2019t fall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I slowly raised my hand to my stinging cheek, locked eyes with her, and smiled. Because tucked up in the ceiling corner of the attorney\u2019s office was a blinking red security camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor caught my gaze and followed it to the lens. Too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n William spoke with lethal, icy calm. \u201cThank you for that, Eleanor. You just made my job exponentially easier.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eleanor\u2019s porcelain mask cracked for a fraction of a second. She rapidly suppressed the panic, snatched her leather portfolio off the desk, and marched toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have precisely forty-eight hours to accept the wired settlement,\u201d she told me over her shoulder. \u201cAfter the clock runs out, you are going to learn the hard way that blood is utterly useless when you don\u2019t possess the last name to back it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right before stepping out, she paused and leaned slightly toward me. \u201cAnd do give David my regards. Tell him I still remember him fondly.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The heavy door clicked shut. My blood turned to freon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDavid?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n William refused to meet my eyes. And that was my very first blaring alarm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy would she say that about my dad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lawyer remained completely silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWilliam. Look at me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He inhaled deeply, looking like a man who knows he is about to shatter a life into a million irreparable pieces. \u201cBecause David didn\u2019t just marry your mother out of the goodness of his heart to protect her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt all my adrenaline drain out of my body in one rush. \u201cWhat the hell are you saying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n William reached into the lockbox one last time and produced an old, glossy photograph. It was my mother, looking vibrant and young. David, also young. Julian standing behind them. And Eleanor standing dead center, with a manicured hand resting intimately on David\u2019s shoulder. Too close. Too familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the back of the photo, a date was stamped. Exactly one year before I was born. William handed it to me gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBefore he ever took a job working for Julian Rothchild\u2026 David was Eleanor\u2019s personal fixer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My cell phone violently vibrated in my pocket at that exact second. It was a text message from David.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Harper, do not come back to the apartment. There are things your mother forbade me from telling you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Directly underneath the text was an image file. The front door of our Queens apartment was kicked wide open. And sitting in the center of our cramped living room, perched like a dark queen among my mother\u2019s cheap, thrifted furniture, was Eleanor Blackwood.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The night my mom died, I found a savings passbook hidden underneath her mattress: it held $14,600,000, even though she had been surviving on a miserable disability… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2884","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2884","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2884"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2884\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2893,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2884\/revisions\/2893"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2884"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2884"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2884"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
The Weapon<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The Confession<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The Ambush<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
The Final Betrayal<\/h2>\n\n\n\n