Chapter 580
Chapter 580:
“It is not working,” Caleb whimpered. “The lead auditor—a woman named Clark—she is like a bloodhound. She says our quarterly reports do not align with the public utility payment records she subpoenaed this morning. She is asking about the Cyprus transfer p>
Belle slammed her fist against the seat cushion. The walls were closing in. “Offer her money! A million dollars in an offshore account! Just make her go away p>
“Miss Escobar,” her lead attorney cut in, his voice grim and measured. “Attempting to bribe a PwC auditor on a federally monitored project is a felony that will land you in prison before the sun sets. Do not give that order p>
She hung up. A strangled sob caught in her throat. She was trapped in her own city, in her own company—a queen in a castle built of sand, and the tide was already coming in.
𝖠dd𝗂𝘤𝘁𝘪v𝖾 ѕ𝘵o𝗋ies o𝗇.сom
Her phone buzzed immediately. Her mother. The fifth time in an hour.
Belle stared at the screen as a wave of nausea washed over her. She answered.
“Belle, your Uncle Hector is on his way to the mansion!” Cheryl’s voice was wound tight with panic. “He says the Cayman bank has no record of any system maintenance. He is coming for the trust records. He is coming for me p>
Belle ended the call without a word. Her mother, her company, her entire world was imploding—and it was all because of Isolde.
She opened her news app, driven by a masochistic impulse to see what new triumph her rival was celebrating. The top trending article in the aerospace sector landed like a blade in her chest.
Legendary Architect ‘Sophia’ (Isolde Carson) Welcomed Back to The Institute. Rumors Swirl of New National Defense Initiative.
The accompanying photo showed Isolde ascending the grand marble steps of the research facility, laughing beside Professor Eldridge Nelson. She looked confident, brilliant, and utterly untouchable. A surge of toxic, burning jealousy erupted in Belle’s chest—a physical pain, sharp and suffocating. Isolde was being crowned a queen, while Belle was drowning in stolen money.
Hundreds of miles to the south, the air inside The Institute smelled of ozone and polished metal. A full-scale replica of a Mars rover hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling of the main atrium, presiding over the vast space below like a monument to human ambition.
From the second-floor mezzanine, Grayson Lancaster stood in the shadows and looked down. He had arrived an hour earlier, his Lancaster Group clearance granting him immediate, unquestioned access. Below, Isolde stood at the center of the hall, surrounded by the country’s foremost scientists.
“Sophia!” Professor Eldridge Nelson’s voice boomed across the atrium as he threw his arms wide. “Welcome home, my dear p>
Isolde smiled—a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes, the kind of smile Grayson had not seen in five years. She stepped forward and embraced the old man.
“It is good to see you, Professor,” she said softly.