Chapter 591

Chapter 590:

Conrad picked it up with a sneer of contempt. “Family matters,” he scoffed.

“And his brother, Gaston Collins,” the secretary added, turning the tablet toward him. “He has become an internet sensation because of that reality show. He appears completely immersed in his wife’s world p>

The screen showed the live feed of Gaston kissing Jocelyn.

Conrad glanced at it and let out a short, dismissive laugh. “The Collins men,” he said, swirling his whiskey. “They will always be ruined by women in the end. One goes mad over an amnesiac wife, the other makes a fool of himself over a pregnant one. They are no threat p>

He waved his secretary away, entirely oblivious to the fact that Justin’s silence was the calm before a storm, and that Gaston’s very public display of devotion was the perfect smokescreen.

Conrad had no idea that the wheels Justin had set in motion weeks ago were already turning — quietly, precisely, and with no intention of stopping.

The net was closing around him. He simply couldn’t feel it yet.

A𝖽𝖽𝗶c𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 nо𝗏𝘦𝗹𝘴 𝘰n

Back in New York, the kiss ended. Jocelyn rested her head against Gaston’s chest, the ice pack still pressed gently to her cheek. The pain was fading, replaced by a heavy, peaceful exhaustion. Within minutes, she was asleep in his arms.

The backyard of the Sterling estate in Washington D.C. was a picture of elite perfection. Fairy lights were strung through the ancient oak trees. A jazz band played softly on the patio. The guest list was a who’s who of the capital’s power brokers.

It was a farewell dinner for Conrad’s daughter, who was leaving for an Ivy League university. Conrad stood by the bar with a glass of champagne in his hand, his chest swelled with paternal pride.

He raised his glass and waited for the chatter to subside so he could give his toast.

Just as he opened his mouth, the heavy wrought-iron gates at the front of the property swung open. Three black SUVs rolled silently up the gravel drive. Red and blue lights pulsed from behind their windshields.

The music stopped.

The guests turned, their faces shifting from confusion to alarm.

Men in dark blue windbreakers with bright yellow FBI lettering stepped out of the vehicles and moved with swift, purposeful strides across the manicured lawn, heading directly for Conrad.

His smile froze. He stared at them, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were showing him.

The lead agent — a stern-faced woman — stopped in front of him and pulled a folded document from her jacket.

“Conrad Sterling,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “You are under arrest for the receipt of illegal campaign contributions, money laundering, and obstruction of justice p>

Conrad’s champagne glass slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the stone patio.

“This is a mistake,” he sputtered, his face darkening. “I’m a friend of the governor. I p>

“You have the right to remain silent,” the agent interrupted. She took his wrist and snapped a pair of steel handcuffs into place.