Chapter 608
Chapter 608:
Victoria’s confident posture faltered for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widened slightly before she recovered the mask of superiority. “Minor accounting errors,” she argued stubbornly. “We can fix that. We need her for Kaiden’s sake p>
At the mention of Kaiden, a dark, violent shadow crossed Grayson’s face.
He straightened. He adjusted his tie with sharp, mechanical precision. He was no longer speaking as a son. He was speaking as the ruthless capitalist who controlled the Lancaster empire.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said, his voice dead and freezing cold. “If you ever use your private trust to publish a stunt like this again, I will personally freeze every liquid asset under your name. You will not be able to buy a cup of coffee without my signature p>
Victoria shot to her feet, her face flushing with genuine outrage. “You are threatening your own mother? Over a woman who is divorcing you p>
“I am protecting my company,” Grayson corrected her. “I will not allow you to manipulate my life p>
Victoria pointed a trembling finger at him. “You are losing your mind, Grayson,” she hissed. “Isolde has poisoned you. You will destroy this family because of your obsession with her p>
She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the heavy doors behind her.
𝖰𝘂𝘢𝗅it𝘺 trаn𝘴lа𝘵𝗂𝘰𝗇𝘴 𝘰𝘯
The room fell into dead silence.
Grayson collapsed into his leather chair and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, a crushing headache pounding against the inside of his skull. The walls were closing in.
He pressed the intercom button. “Silas—contact our media liaisons. I want that Wall Street Journal article scrubbed from the internet. Issue a retraction. Kill the story p>
A long pause followed.
“Sir,” Silas said, his voice hesitant and tight. “I can attempt to pull the digital copies, but the print edition has already been distributed. And p>
“And what?” Grayson snapped.
“The physical copy was delivered to the main estate this morning,” Silas whispered. “Beatrice has seen it p>
Grayson’s hand froze over the intercom. His blood ran instantly cold.
Before he could process the full weight of that statement, the red private line on his desk began to ring—a secure line that connected to only one location.
The Lancaster Estate.
Grayson stared at the flashing red light. His stomach dropped.
He picked up the receiver. “Yes p>
The estate’s head butler spoke. His voice was formal, rigid, and carried the weight of an executioner. “Mr. Lancaster. The Matriarch requires your presence at the estate. Immediately. You are not to delay p>
The line went dead.
Grayson set the receiver down slowly. The storm had not passed. The real hurricane was only just beginning.
The iron gates of the Lancaster Estate loomed in the darkness like the entrance to a mausoleum.
Grayson’s Maybach rolled up the long, winding driveway, the tires crunching over pristine gravel. The ancient stone mansion sat at the crest of the hill, its windows glowing with a cold, yellow light. Grayson stepped out of the car. The night air was biting, but a thin film of cold sweat had already formed on the back of his neck.
He walked through the massive double doors and followed the butler to the main drawing room.