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Chapter 656
Chapter 656:
Crawford’s chief assistant sat in the forward-facing seat, his tablet glowing with Morgan Stanley merger documents — one hundred twenty billion dollars in media assets, the deal that would cement Love Media Group’s dominance for the next decade.
“Sir.” The assistant’s voice wavered slightly. “The dinner. Mr. Chen flies back to London tonight. If we miss this window p>
“Cancel it p>
Crawford didn’t look up from his phone, where a live feed from his Ghost Team showed June’s town car pulling away from the Apex Bio tower.
“Sir, with respect p>
Crawford’s eyes lifted. The assistant’s words died immediately.
“Do I look like a man who cares about money right now?” Crawford asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
The assistant shook his head and reached for his phone to manufacture an emergency.
“Good.” Crawford turned back to the window, watching the city blur past. “I need to be at Masa. Find a way.” He paused, his thumb tracing the edge of his phone screen where June’s face appeared in a grainy security capture. “Money is a tool. She is the purpose p>
аd𝖽𝗂𝘤t𝗶𝗏𝖾 𝗻о𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗌 o𝗻
Below, on the crawling FDR Drive, Cole Compton’s Range Rover sat trapped in gridlock. His phone was pressed to one ear while a secure earpiece fed a second stream of information into the other.
“She’s on the roof, sir,” his chief of staff reported. “Standing on the ledge. Media trucks from three networks are already on site p>
Through the earpiece, his head of security spoke in a low, measured tone. “We have Dr. Finch, sir. He’s cooperative. The recording is uploading to your tablet now p>
Cole’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Seal the roof. No cameras p>
“She’s demanding to see you. Says she’ll jump in five minutes if p>
“Tell her I’m coming.” His voice was absolute zero. “Tell her exactly that p>
He forced every other thought down and focused on the cold arithmetic of the situation. Alycia couldn’t jump — the PR disaster would destroy Compton Group’s stock price, trigger a board revolt, and expose vulnerabilities he had spent years concealing. She wouldn’t jump. This was theater, the same performance she had been running from the beginning.
But now he had the script to her final act.
The Range Rover finally broke free of the gridlock and screamed onto the hospital access road. Cole was out before it stopped moving, his long strides carrying him to the service entrance. The rooftop access door was locked. He hit it with his shoulder — once, twice, the impact jarring through his still-healing burns — and on the third strike the frame gave way with a scream of metal.
He stepped onto the roof.
The wind hit him like a physical wall. Thirty stories up, the city spread below in glittering indifference. Alycia stood on the narrow ledge of the parapet, her hospital gown whipping around her legs, her bare feet pale against the concrete.
She turned at the sound of his entrance. Cole watched her eyes move quickly over him — his disheveled state, the blood-stained bandages — and he saw her misread his expression as fear for her safety.
“Cole.” Her voice carried on the wind, trembling and rehearsed. “You came p>