Chapter 281
A small crowd of investors and property vultures had gathered under umbrellas, there to pick the bones of the Carson legacy.
A silver Bentley pulled up.
Grayson stepped out, discharged against medical advice. His face was pale and he moved stiffly, clearly in pain, but he wore a custom-tailored dark grey suit whose sharp lines concealed the bandages beneath. He leaned heavily on a polished ebony cane — a prop of power as much as a necessity. Belle was beside him, holding a large umbrella.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Belle whispered, gazing at the Georgian mansion. “We can renovate it. Knock down that old wing. Maybe turn it into a spa?”
Grayson grimaced. “It’s her childhood home, Belle. Be respectful.”
He planned to buy it. He would hold the deed and let Isolde and Ellyn live there — the ultimate gesture of benevolence. She would have to thank him. She would have to acknowledge that he was the provider.
The auctioneer, a man in a wet raincoat, banged his gavel on a portable podium. “Opening bid: three million dollars.”
Grayson raised his hand. “Three point five million.”
о𝘳gа𝗻i𝗓𝘦 𝗒𝗼𝗎𝗿 𝘭𝗶br𝗮𝗋𝘆 𝗼𝗻 𝘨𝖺ln𝗼𝗏𝘦𝘭ѕ.𝘤𝘰m
The crowd murmured. Nobody wanted to bid against Grayson Lancaster.
A beat-up sedan pulled up to the curb.
Isolde stepped out. She wore a black trench coat belted tightly at the waist and carried no umbrella. The rain soaked her hair instantly, plastering it to her face.
She looked like a widow. Or an executioner.
Belle whispered, “She’s here to beg. Watch.”
Grayson walked over to her. “Isolde. Don’t worry. I’m buying it. You can stay. We can work out a lease agreement.”
Isolde ignored him. She didn’t even look at him.
She walked straight to the auctioneer. “I am here to clear the outstanding debt and prevent this auction.” Her voice carried over the rain.
The auctioneer paused. “Ma’am, the foreclosure is active. You have until the gavel falls to pay the full debt plus interest and fees. That is four million, two hundred thousand dollars.”
Grayson stepped forward. “Isolde, stop this. You don’t have that kind of cash. You are embarrassing yourself.”
Isolde gave a curt nod and walked to the small makeshift shelter where Arland Roth’s senior legal counsel, Mr. Davies, stood waiting with a briefcase. He opened it to reveal a stack of documents and a large official check. Isolde reviewed the figures quickly, her eyes sharp and focused.
“Payment in full,” Mr. Davies announced, his voice cutting through the drumming rain as he handed the check to the auctioneer. It was crisp and dry, protected by a waterproof sleeve.
The auctioneer examined it — the watermark, the amount, the issuing authority. His eyebrows shot up. “Funds verified. Issued by… ‘Phoenix Trust’?”
Grayson froze. Phoenix Trust. He had never heard of it. His mind raced, trying to place the name, but came up empty.
Isolde turned to face him. Rain dripped from her eyelashes, but her eyes were burning. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t need your money.”
Belle gaped. “How? How did she get a check from a defense contractor?”
.
.