Chapter 589

Chapter 589:

She reached out, pulled her car door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine purred to life. She rolled the window down and looked at Grayson one last time.

“By the way,” she said, almost casually, “that two-hundred-million-dollar cash injection Belle found this morning—I would strongly recommend running a forensic audit on the routing numbers. Unless, of course, you are comfortable sharing a federal prison cell with her p>

She put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving a thin wake of exhaust drifting back over them.

Grayson turned slowly and looked at Belle. His eyes were dead.

“Two hundred million,” he said quietly. “Where did you steal it from, Belle p>

Belle’s knees gave way. She collapsed onto the hard concrete, sobbing hysterically, unable to form a single word.

Grayson pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. “Silas,” he said, his voice carrying flat and clear across the empty lot. “Initiate a full, hostile forensic audit of every InnoTech account. Tear the company down to the studs p>

He hung up, slid the phone into his pocket, and walked back toward his Maybach, leaving Belle weeping on the ground behind him.

Grayson sat at his massive mahogany desk inside the SkyLine building. The sun was setting over Manhattan, casting long, bloody streaks of orange light across the floor.

D𝗼𝘸𝗻𝗹𝗈a𝘥𝖺𝗯𝘭e 𝖯𝘋𝖥𝘀 o𝗻.с𝗼𝗆

Spread before him were the preliminary findings of the InnoTech audit. The numbers were catastrophic—shell companies, forged invoices, offshore transfers. It was a criminal masterpiece of embezzlement. But Grayson could not focus on the fraud. His mind kept replaying the image of Isolde standing before that glass whiteboard: the absolute command she held over the room, and the way she had looked at him with nothing but cold pity.

He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up his phone. He dialed Isolde’s number.

The line rang five times. He was about to hang up when it clicked open.

“Speak,” Isolde’s voice came through the speaker, clipped and accompanied by the faint sound of city traffic and a turn signal ticking in the background.

Grayson swallowed the lump in his throat. “Isolde,” he began, his voice rough. “About what happened today—about the designs. I want to compensate you. Properly p>

Isolde let out a short, breathy laugh that held no joy whatsoever. “Compensate me? How? Are you going to transfer half of your voting shares in SkyLine to my name p>

Grayson gripped the edge of his desk. “If you are willing to return to the consortium, I can draft a contract for substantial equity based on your intellectual property p>

“You still do not understand, Grayson,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a glacial register. “I do not want your charity. I do not want your equity. I am pulling up to Effie’s school right now, and I do not have the time or the patience to listen to your pathetic attempts at absolution p>

The line went dead.

Grayson stared at the black screen of his phone. A heavy, sickening wave of defeat washed over him.

The office doors opened. Silas stepped inside, holding a tablet.