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Chapter 519
Chapter 519:
His voice was raw and scratchy — frightening to hear.
“Even if it costs us five hundred million dollars,” Cole snarled, his eyes burning with absolute madness, “I want the Beasley family completely erased from Wall Street by the end of the day. Do you understand me p>
The CFO nodded rapidly, trembling, then turned and practically ran out of the office.
The heavy door clicked shut.
𝖱𝗲𝗮𝘥 𝗳𝘳eе 𝗻𝗈𝘃𝖾𝗹𝘴 оn
Cole slumped back into his leather chair. All the energy drained out of him at once.
He closed his eyes.
The image of June lying in the hospital bed burned behind them — her pale, fragile face, the thick white bandage at her neck, Easton Hahn standing beside her, protective and certain, touching her with a quiet ease that Cole would never have again.
A toxic mixture of endless regret and violent jealousy ate at his chest. The pain was so sharp he could barely draw a full breath.
He had no other outlet for this agony. He could only burn things down.
He wanted the Beasleys to pay the ultimate price for what they had done to her. He didn’t care if the world thought him a monster for destroying his own fiancée’s family. He simply needed to obliterate something.
Back at the Love Group, Crawford settled behind his desk and tapped one finger slowly against the polished wood.
He picked up his encrypted phone and dialed his head of global security.
“I want a full, minute-by-minute account of Cole Compton’s movements over the last forty-eight hours,” Crawford said. “Find out exactly where he went and who he saw p>
He set the phone down.
Cole must have learned something at the hospital — something that had triggered this suicidal, self-destructive rage. Crawford had no intention of allowing Cole to use this unhinged display of destruction as a path back to June’s attention.
Two apex predators of Wall Street were now locked in a silent, bloody war of capital — both consumed by their obsession with the same woman.
Back in her apartment, June sat on the sofa with a warm cup of coffee cradled in both hands. She stared at the Bloomberg terminal. The Beasley stock had officially zeroed out.
She took a slow sip.
Her eyes were calm. Her mind was not.
Heavy rain lashed the glass walls of the Compton Group headquarters in midtown Manhattan.
A battered yellow taxi slammed to a halt in front of the main entrance. Alycia threw the door open, stumbled out without an umbrella, and ran frantically toward the lobby.
She was completely soaked. Her expensive Chanel suit clung to her body in wet, wrinkled patches. Her hair was a tangled mass plastered across her face. She looked desperate and wild.
She sprinted toward the VIP elevator bank.
Two massive security guards in dark suits stepped directly into her path, blocking her with their combined bulk.