A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 171

But proud.

I looked back at the route on the screen.

At the ferry.

At the place where the signal vanished.

Then I looked at Jason.

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“We’re starting now.”

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6 years old

Amber POV

John Stait was still studying Alex with visible interest when he asked the next question.

“How old are you, son?”

Alex sat up straighter in his chair, clearly pleased to be taken seriously.

“I’m turning six in a week.” 1

The answer landed harder than expected.

John Stait’s expression shifted immediately.

Not amusement.

Alarm.

He slowly turned toward Jason.

“Son…”

A pause.

“Just how did you decide to train the children?”

His brows rose higher.

“I know this is not all Ms. Asher’s doing.”

Before Jason could answer, Alex made an offended sound.

He had clearly decided someone needed to defend me.

He looked at John with tiny righteous fury.

Then pointed proudly in my direction.

“Oh, Mom Amber was teaching us robotics too.”

I froze.

Again.

That title was becoming increasingly dangerous to my composure.

Alex kept going.

“She said Alice was good at it because she likes solving puzzles.”

Alice, who had apparently inherited both chaos and engineering potential.

Of course.

“And she was going to teach us about options,” he added sadly, “but we haven’t had time yet.”

Silence.

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1/7

1

Then every adult in the room turned to look at me.

grandfather tooked horrified.

As if I had personally declared war on childhood itself.

Mrs. Sun looked fascinated.

Mr. Sun looked deeply entertained.

John Stait looked like he had discovered an illegal academy hidden inside a fairy tale house.

Jason-

Jason looked interested.

Far too interested.

I sank slightly lower in my chair.

Again.

“Am…”

I cleared my throat.

“Potions,” I mumbled.

No one blinked.

“As in teas. And mixtures. For healing only, okay?”

I lifted one finger.

“Nothing too extreme.”

The room remained silent.

Jason was still looking at me.

Now with unmistakable amusement.

John Stait leaned back slowly.

“I came to recruit one consultant,” he said.

He gestured toward the house.

“I appear to have discovered a secret institution.”

Alex beamed.

I covered my face with one hand.

“This is being exaggerated.”

I lowered my hand and looked around the room.

Enough.

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2/7

༽

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We were drifting.

Again.

“There are children missing,” I said firmly.

The words cut through the atmosphere instantly.

Every trace of amusement disappeared.

I turned to Alex and held out my hand.

“May I borrow the computer?”

He nodded at once and carefully slid the laptop toward me.

I pulled it closer and adjusted the screen so he could still see.

If he was going to learn, then he would learn properly.

“Watch,” I told him.

His eyes lit up immediately.

Jason moved closer behind me.

John Stait stood at my other side.

The rest of the room gathered in silence.

“You already found the last known location,” I said to Alex. “That means you did the hardest part first.”

He looked proud.

He should have.

“Now we verify.”

I opened the ferry terminal’s external network map, scanning for connected devices, blind systems, archived feeds, and unsecured maintenance channels.

As I worked, I explained each step.

“Public places usually have more cameras than people realize.”

I highlighted a service grid.

“But not all of them are equally protected.’

I bypassed an outdated authentication layer and entered a maintenance server.

“So we don’t attack the strongest door.”

I selected an overlooked subnetwork.

“We use the forgotten one.”

Alex nodded solemnly, committing every word to memory.

A list of camera feeds appeared.

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I chose one facing the ferry entrance.

Then rewound the footage to the timestamp of Alison’s last signal.

The room went completely still.

A bus entered the frame.

Unmarked.

Plain.

Too clean.

The doors opened.

Men stepped out first.

Then the children.

Or rather-

They were moved.

My jaw tightened.

They were walking, but wrong.

Slow.

Unsteady.

Unresponsive.

Drugged.

One by one, teenagers were taken from the bus and escorted onto a waiting boat.

No resistance.

No awareness.

No sound.

I began counting aloud.

“Three.”

“Seven.”

“Twelve.”

“Fifteen.”

No one in the room moved.

No one breathed loudly enough to hear.

“Nineteen.”

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4/7

“Twenty.”

wenty-one.”

Then the footage ended.

Silence.

Heavy.

Immediate.

I replayed it.

Counted again.

Same result.

Twenty-one teenagers transferred.

I looked at John Stait.

Then at the file.

Then back to the screen.

“There were twenty-two taken,” I said quietly.

My pulse slowed.

Focused.

Cold.

“They’re missing one.”

The silence lasted only a second after my words.

Then John Stait moved.

Fast.

Efficient.

Decisive.

He pulled out his phone and began making calls immediately.

His voice turned sharp, clipped, all warmth gone.

“Activate transport.”

A pause.

“I want the ferry footage verified and expanded.”

Another pause.

“Reopen all maritime routes within the last seventy-two hours.”

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