The Real Daughter Said I Copied Her？Oops, My Test Was Blank Chapter 09
After that interview aired, Walsh Capital’s stock price plummeted forty-seven percent before the closing bell.
I didn’t go out of my way to keep tabs on the Walshes, but Boston’s upper crust is a small world—news seeped through like water.
Word had it Patrick was furious beyond reason, blaming his wife and daughter for the company’s collapse.
He’d taken to drinking, lashing out at Sophia at home, accusing her of driving me away with her jealousy—and that was why everything had fallen apart.
The “real daughter” who’d once been coddled and cherished was now nothing but a laughingstock, a jinx on everyone’s lips.
But I felt nothing.
You reap what you sow. They’d earned every bit of it.
The next time I saw Sophia was on a quiet path at the northwest edge of the MIT campus.
It was drizzling that day. I’d just left the lab, a black umbrella in hand, heading toward the dining hall.
A disheveled figure burst out of the bushes by the roadside.
She’d wasted away to almost nothing—hair plastered to her face with grease, dark bruises under her eyes, a kitchen knife clenched tight in her hand.
“Lena Walsh! Die!”
“If you’re dead, they’ll love me again! The Walsh family can go back to how it was!”
A few students passing by let out startled cries.
But I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t even lift the edge of my umbrella.
When the knife was less than a yard from me—
Two plainclothes security officers who’d been shadowing me from a distance sprang into action.
One clean takedown, and Sophia’s face was pressed flat against the wet asphalt.
Van Buren had arranged for personal protection through MIT security the day I enrolled.
Sophia’s cheek was grinding into the pavement, rain mixing with mud across her face.
She thrashed and screamed, every word a curse:
“Lena Walsh! You worthless orphan nobody wanted!”
“You ruined everything! Why do you get to be on top while I rot in hell?!”
I stood under my umbrella, looking down at her like she was a stray cat caught in the rain.
“You’re the one who made up those lies. You treated everyone like pawns on your chessboard.”
“I gave you a chance. You chose this path yourself.”
Sirens grew closer.
Sophia was taken away by Boston police on charges of attempted murder.
While I was giving my statement, I pulled an encrypted USB drive from the hidden compartment in my backpack and handed it to the detective handling the case.
“Everything on here is Patrick Walsh’s records from the last five years—offshore shell companies, insider trading, and political contributions to city council members.”
I’d backed it up while helping Patrick organize files on his study computer back when I still lived in that house.
I’d done it to protect myself.
I never expected it to be the final straw.
The day Walsh Capital declared bankruptcy, federal agents came for Patrick at his home.
The evidence was airtight.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Mark Harrison announced at a press conference that Patrick would be facing twelve to fifteen years in federal prison.
The once-prominent Boston old-money family—gone overnight.
And I stood in the golden hall of the National Academy of Sciences in Washington, D.C., as MIT’s youngest-ever distinguished research scholar.
The applause was thunderous. The lights were blinding.
After the ceremony, I stepped outside and saw a hunched, familiar figure on a bench by the curb.
Eleanor.
Word was she’d completely fallen apart under the double blow of her husband’s arrest and the family’s collapse.
She’d had a breakdown and ended up on the streets.
People gave her a wide berth, but she didn’t seem to notice. She just huddled by the heating vent outside the hall, her lips moving ceaselessly:
“Lena… Lena got a perfect score… Lena made me so proud…”
“Sophia… Sophia’s rotten… she lied… she lied about everything…”
I stood a few feet away and watched her.
In my past life, she’d done the same thing.
She’d thrown me out for Sophia’s sake, left me to freeze to death in a Boston winter.
She didn’t even look back.
This time, the roles were reversed.
My assistant leaned in and asked quietly:
“Dr. Walsh, do you know that woman? She looks pitiful… should I call a shelter for her?”
I pulled my gaze away, tightened my coat, and turned toward the waiting car.
“No.”