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Chapter 652
Chapter 652:
Cole’s voice turned absolutely flat. “If they refuse — or if a single word of this reaches the press — I will direct every resource available to this company toward a federal fraud prosecution. They will spend the remainder of their lives in a concrete cell p>
The assistant nodded and left quickly.
Cole lit another cigarette and looked out at the Manhattan skyline, exhaling slowly. He believed he had just purchased his freedom.
He did not yet understand that he was walking deeper into the trap.
Inside the VIP ward at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, Alycia lay weak but alert, her eyes sharp with anticipation.
She had been watching the clock. Three hours had passed since the lawyer’s letter was delivered. She pictured Cole drowning in guilt somewhere above the city, pacing his office, reaching for the phone.
She had already rehearsed the performance: when he came through the door, she would weep, she would be fragile, she would use the loss of the child to reclaim her hold on him.
The door handle turned. Alycia arranged her face into the appropriate expression of devastation.
But it was not Cole who walked in.
𝘙е𝗮𝖽 f𝗋𝘰m yо𝘶r ph𝗼ո𝘦 𝘰n
His chief of staff entered wearing a dark suit and gold-rimmed glasses, his expression carrying all the warmth of a legal document. He looked at Alycia without any discernible emotion and walked directly to her bedside.
“Where is Cole?” Alycia’s voice cracked with sudden panic. “I want to see him. Why are you here p>
The assistant did not answer. He pulled a thick black leather folder from his briefcase and set it on the nightstand with a precise, unhurried motion.
“Miss Beasley. Mr. Compton is occupied. He has authorized me to resolve this matter on his behalf.” He opened the folder. “Mr. Compton has agreed to your compensation request. In fact, he has exceeded it p>
Alycia’s breath caught.
“This is a Cayman Islands offshore blind trust containing two hundred million dollars — sufficient for your family to live comfortably anywhere in the world for the rest of your lives p>
She stared at the document. Two hundred million. The number was so far beyond anything she had actually expected that for a moment she couldn’t speak.
Then the assistant adjusted his glasses and continued.
“There is one condition. All direct relatives of the Beasley family must depart United States territory within forty-eight hours of signing this agreement, aboard a Compton Group private jet. Destination: Argentina. You will be permanently barred from returning to American soil — and from New York in particular p>
The elation drained from Alycia’s face.
“Exile?” Her voice rose sharply. “He wants to exile my family to South America? I lost the ability to have children because of him, and he won’t even come to look me in the eye p>
The assistant regarded her with an expression that contained, beneath its professional neutrality, something very close to contempt.
“Mr. Compton’s exact words, Miss Beasley: he never wishes to see you again p>
The words went through her like a blade. Her last illusion — that the medical report would draw Cole back, that the loss of the child would resurrect his obligation to her — disintegrated completely.