Chapter 392
Chapter 392:
Arthur shifted his weight. “Mr. Lancaster stressed that this invitation is extended to crucial business partners. And —” He swallowed, visibly hating his role as messenger. “Beatrice Lancaster, his mother, specifically requested to see Effie p>
Isolde’s fingers stopped typing.
A cold, violent spike of anger shot through her chest. Using Beatrice and Effie as emotional leverage was a cheap, toxic tactic — Grayson’s way of forcing her hand. If she went, she was playing his game, submitting to his social arena. If she refused, she looked bitter and petty, keeping a child from her grandmother. But Isolde was no longer playing social games. She was playing a war of attrition.
She glanced at the logistics report on her screen. The global supply of high-grade composite resin — the exact resin Belle needed for the InnoTech modules — was bottlenecking in Southeast Asia.
𝖠𝖼𝘁𝗶𝘷𝖾 𝗰𝘰𝗆𝘮𝘂𝗻і𝘁у 𝘰𝗇 𝗴𝖺𝗹ո𝘰𝗏е𝘭𝗌.co𝗆
“Tell Grayson I received the invitation,” Isolde said, her voice devoid of any emotion.
Arthur frowned. “Does that mean yes, Ms. Carson p>
Isolde looked up at last. She offered him a slow, terrifyingly blank smile. “It means I received it, Arthur. You are dismissed p>
He nodded quickly and practically fled the office.
A moment later, Arland walked in. He looked at the velvet envelope on the desk and grimaced. “You aren’t actually going to that circus, are you p>
“No,” Isolde said, returning immediately to her keyboard. “I am going to use the time they spend drinking champagne to cut their throats p>
Arland raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me p>
“The composite resin,” she explained, fingers flying across the keys. “There is a massive shortage hitting the market this weekend — a factory fire in Taiwan.” She turned the monitor so he could see the data. “I need to lock down the remaining North American inventory from InnoTech’s primary supplier before their procurement team realizes what is happening p>
Arland’s eyes widened. “If you buy up their supplier’s stock, Belle won’t have the materials to build the prototypes. She’ll fail the audit before it even begins p>
“Exactly,” Isolde said. “So we are skipping the gala. Let Grayson stand by the door and wait for a ghost p>
Arland grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “He is going to be furious when you no-show. It’s a massive public insult p>
“I don’t want to just insult him,” Isolde said thoughtfully. “I want to make a statement. Send a gift to the estate — something memorable.” She paused. “Have it delivered directly to the main hall, brought in by the staff right in the middle of his keynote speech p>
Arland chuckled. “I have a few ideas. A dead fish wrapped in newspaper p>
“Too mafia,” Isolde dismissed.
She picked up the velvet envelope between two fingers, as though it were contaminated, and dropped it directly into the metal trash can beside her desk.
“Priorities, Arland,” she said, her eyes locking back onto the supply chain data. “The empire comes first p>
Friday night. The Lancaster Estate in the Hamptons blazed like a beacon of wealth against the dark sky.
Massive spotlights swept across the manicured lawns. A string quartet played softly on the grand terrace. The driveway was choked with a fleet of black Maybachs and Bentleys.