Chapter 392
Chapter 392:
She looked past Mrs. Chandler’s shoulder, watching the brushed steel doors begin to slide open.
The elevator doors slid open with a smooth, mechanical hiss.
Liam Kensington rushed out. He didn’t run with the athletic grace he once possessed. He stumbled, his weight heavy on his cane, his bad leg dragging slightly as he fought for balance on the polished marble floor of the reception area. He was wearing the linen suit from the island, now wrinkled and stained with travel sweat. He looked like a man who had sprinted from the tarmac to the car, and from the car to the elevator.
He skidded to a halt at the shattered glass door of her office, bracing himself against the frame to keep from falling. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He froze. His gaze swept over the room—the shattered crystal, the dented drywall, the wall of muscle blocking the exits.
“What the hell?” Liam breathed, his voice hoarse.
Mrs. Chandler looked up from where she was examining a piece of modern art she was clearly contemplating destroying. She didn’t look guilty. She looked surprised, then amused. A slow, arrogant smile spread across her face.
“Liam, darling,” she cooed. “I was just doing a little corporate restructuring for you. Beatrice was quite insistent p>
Skye didn’t look at Liam. She didn’t look at Mrs. Chandler. She was looking at the shattered prototype on the floor, calculating.
“Proprietary hardware prototype, Oracle Series 4,” Skye said clearly, her voice devoid of emotion. “Development cost: fifty thousand dollars p>
Liam stepped into the room, the rhythmic click-drag of his cane echoing in the silence. He pushed past the nearest bodyguard, who made a move to stop him but hesitated upon recognizing the Kensington face.
“Imported Italian glass partition, custom-etched,” Skye continued, staring at the spiderweb cracks in her office wall. “Twenty thousand dollars p>
“Skye?” Liam reached out, his hand hovering near her arm but not touching. “Are you hurt p>
Skye ignored him. “Corporate espionage and destruction of intellectual property. In this state, the damages exceed the threshold for grand larceny and domestic terrorism charges, given the nature of the data involved p>
She looked up then, her eyes locking onto Mrs. Chandler.
“You didn’t just break a vase, Mrs. Chandler. You attacked a tech conglomerate p>
O𝗽𝘵𝗶𝗺𝖺l 𝗋𝗲𝘢d𝗂𝗇𝘨 𝗲𝘅p𝗲𝘳𝗂𝗲𝗇𝘤е 𝘰𝗇 bе.с𝗼𝘮
Mrs. Chandler scoffed. She stood, smoothing her fur coat. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m helping you get rid of the trash, Liam. Your grandmother was distraught p>
Liam turned to the older woman. His face flushed a deep, angry red. The veins in his neck bulged.
“Get out,” Liam snarled.
Mrs. Chandler blinked. “Excuse me p>
“I said get out!” Liam yelled. His voice cracked with the intensity of it. “Take your goons and get out of her office p>
The bodyguards looked at each other, then at Mrs. Chandler.
“Liam, be reasonable,” Mrs. Chandler said, her smile faltering. “She’s ruining your reputation p>
“You just broke into a secure facility!” Liam shouted. He pointed a shaking finger at the door. “If you aren’t gone in ten seconds, I’m calling the police myself. And I will personally leak the documents regarding your husband’s offshore accounts to the IRS. Don’t think I don’t know about the shell companies. Beatrice showed me the files years ago p>
Mrs. Chandler paled. The color drained from her face instantly. The business threat was the only language she understood. She knew Liam had been the CEO; he knew where the bodies were buried.
She reached into her bag, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled furiously. She tore the check out and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it at Skye.
“Buy yourself something tasteful,” she spat.