Chapter 358
“Prepare the server logs,” Isolde ordered. “I want a minute-by-minute breakdown of her internet traffic — every second she spent shopping, every document she failed to file, every email she ignored.”
Sarah nodded, scribbling notes. “We have the data, Ms. Carson. It’s an open-and-shut case of termination for cause. But the PR could be damaging. Grayson Lancaster’s lawyers will leak this to the press. They’ll paint you as the bitter ex-wife.”
Before Isolde could respond, her cell phone vibrated on the desk.
The caller ID read: Beatrice Lancaster.
Isolde held up a hand to silence Sarah and answered. “Good morning, Beatrice.”
“Grayson is a fool.” Beatrice’s gravelly voice came through the speaker without preamble, without greeting. “He is letting that woman sue his own subsidiary. I told you he was funding a parasite, but I did not imagine it would come to this. It is a public embarrassment.”
“What did he say?” Isolde asked.
“He said he cannot control her,” Beatrice scoffed. “Pathetic. A man who cannot control his mistress has no business running a boardroom.” A heavy sigh filtered through the line. “But you must be careful, Isolde. He is trying to buy her silence with a new company. He is pouring Lancaster capital into it.”
Isolde frowned. The warning from the funeral stirred at the back of her mind. “What kind of company?”
𝘈𝖽𝗱𝘪с𝘁ivе ѕ𝘵оri𝗲s on 𝗴𝖺l𝗻ov𝖾ls.𝖼𝗈𝗆
“A tech startup,” Beatrice said. “Something ridiculous about architecture. He thinks giving her a sandbox will stop her from attacking yours.”
A cold chill moved down Isolde’s spine. “A competitor?”
“Yes,” Beatrice confirmed.
“Thank you, Beatrice,” Isolde said quietly.
She set the phone down. Her mind was already moving. Grayson wasn’t simply placating Belle — he was arming her.
The office door opened. Arland walked in with a tablet, glancing at his watch. “Isolde, we have a meeting in ten minutes in Conference Room B. Dr. Lewis is here.”
Isolde looked up. “Dr. Lewis? The venture capitalist from Silicon Valley?”
“Yes. He flew in this morning. He is highly interested in our new drone stabilization technology. This could be our Series A funding.”
Isolde stood and smoothed the front of her grey jacket. The HR complaint was a distraction — a well-aimed one, but a distraction nonetheless. The real threat was whatever Grayson was quietly building behind her back.
“Let’s go,” she said, her eyes hard and focused. “I need to secure this funding. And I need to find out exactly what Grayson is building.”
She walked out of the office, leaving Sarah standing by the desk. There was a strange, vibrating energy in her chest — the particular electricity of someone who has just realized they are walking into a war and is already calculating the first move.
Conference Room B smelled of dry-erase markers and expensive espresso.
Dr. Lewis sat at the head of the long glass table — a man in his sixties, wearing a casual Patagonia vest over a dress shirt, the unofficial uniform of West Coast money. He was carefully turning the 3D-printed prototype of Carson Dynamics’ new drone stabilizer over in his hands.
.
.